Ringside Reflections 5495t

RINGSIDE REFLECTIONS

MATTHEW HURLEY

Copyright © 2012 by Matthew Hurley.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922136 ISBN: Hardcover Softcover Ebook

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CONTENTS

Introduction

PART I

PROTECT YOURSELF AT ALL TIMES

Hagler versus Hearns: The Fight

Bernard Hopkins—An American Success Story

The Shaky Legacy of Lennox Lewis

Meldrick Taylor—Two Seconds in Time

Margarito’s Situation Brings Back Bad Memories

Upsets Always in the Offing

The Greatest Knockout of the Last Thirty Years

De La Hoya Scopes Out Opponents for 2008

Has De La Hoya’s Shtick Gotten Old?

De La Hoya—Pacquiao: A Superfight in Question

Juan Manuel Marquez—Ready for Diaz but Still Seeking Pacquiao

In Demand: Mayweather-Pacquiao

PART II

SECONDS OUT

A Vote for Donald Curry

Shane Mosley—It’s Been a Bumpy, Thrilling Ride

Shane Mosley Finally Gets His Superfight

Mosley Ignores Underdog Tag

Thomas Hearns—a Hall of Fame Career

Hatton versus Malignaggi—Does the Hitman Have Any Ammunition Left?

Thomas Hearns—An All Too Familiar Story

Countdown to Hatton-Pacquiao

Pacquiao Crushes Hatton in Two

Bob Arum and Freddie Roach Attempt to Refocus Manny Pacquiao

The Ongoing Heavyweight Mess

David Haye—This Generation’s Evander Holyfield?

Ortiz Faces Questions After Thrilling Slugfest

PART III

TEN COUNT

George Kimball—An Appreciation

Looking Back at Paul Pender

July—The Month from Hell

Alexis Arguello—A Champion In and Out of the Ring

Looking Back at Edwin Rosario

PART IV

HOOKS AND JABS

A Round of Applause for Jermain Taylor

Victor Ortiz Comes Full Circle

Cotto and Pacquiao Gear Up for the Fight of the Year

Not Knowing When to Quit

Morales Leaves Us Breathless

Fights of the Decade: Morales-Pacquiao I

Williams-Martinez: Bad Judge, Good Fight

Donaire Continues Lighter-Weight Tradition

Bernard Hopkins Continues to Add to His Legacy

Foreman’s Courage Serves Him Well

A Boxing Scribe’s Night with the UFC

Meet Danny O’Connor

Pacquiao versus Marquez IV—Overkill?

Recommendations

Acknowledgments

To my parents, Elizabeth and William, for their love, , and encouragement.

INTRODUCTION

The first professional boxing match I saw was the rematch between Muhammad Ali and Leon Spinks in 1978. Ali had become one of those mythic figures in my life along with Elvis Presley and the Beatles. It didn’t matter that he was well past his prime, a prime I never saw but only heard about. He had that certain inexplicable charisma that set him apart from mere mortals. Ali’s subsequent beating at the hands of champion Larry Holmes in 1980 humanized him, but it did so at a terrible price. Although his physical and mental decline was rapidly becoming apparent to all but the blindest of sycophants in his inner circle, it was the debacle against Holmes that opened up everyone’s eyes and signaled the end of an era in boxing. Fortunately, along came a mini-Ali in the form of a young welterweight named Ray Leonard, who had the effrontery to adopt the “Sugar” moniker bequeathed on the great Ray Robinson and then backed it up in the ring. Along with Leonard, a group of great fighters revolved around him to coat the 1980s boxing scene in gold. Thomas Hearns, Marvelous Marvin Hagler, Roberto Duran, Aaron Pryor, Wilfredo Benitez, Alexis Arguello, Salvador Sanchez, Michael Spinks, and the aforementioned Larry Holmes kept boxing at the forefront of the sports world. And as that era faded, another always seemed to be waiting in the wings to take a bow.

Mike Tyson, Julio Cesar Chavez, Pernell Whitaker, Evander Holyfield. Oscar De La Hoya, Felix Trinidad, Roy Jones, James Toney, Riddick Bowe. Bernard Hopkins, Lennox Lewis, Joe Calzaghe, Floyd Mayweather. Erik Morales, Marco Antonio Barrera, Juan Manuel Marquez, Manny Pacquiao.

Even when boxing dips in quality or is challenged by an upstart sport like the UFC, it always bounces back at some point behind some burgeoning star with a compelling backstory. Manny Pacquiao of the Philippines became just that fighter in recent years. The excitement he generates in the ring crossed over into a rare mainstream appeal unusual for a boxer not named Tyson or De La Hoya. His fiercest rival, Floyd Mayweather, also achieved unprecedented heights with his defensive wizardry between the ropes, but it is his antics outside the ring, his bad-boy persona, that he marketed brilliantly into millions of dollars—that is truly his calling card. For as the years have gone by, Mayweather has left Pacquiao at the superfight altar and has left boxing fans shaking their heads in bewilderment as to why a fight that could be the richest in history continues to fade away. But that’s boxing. As thrilling as it can be, it remains forever inscrutable. So why do we, the fans, keep coming back? Is boxing just that unending relationship we know is bad for us but always leaves us wanting more? Or is boxing, with all its virtues slamming up against its vices, a reflection of us? As has often been said of boxing, it is as beautiful as it is barbaric. Of course it’s more than that. Boxing is more than a sport, more than just two people beating each other up. Boxing is an art and, at its highest level, is a ballet of athleticism. The sad stories that accompany many of those souls brave enough to climb through the ropes are also part of our collective narrative as well. It’s easy to root for an underdog, particularly one stripped nearly bare and left alone to defend himself in front of an unforgiving, often-bloodthirsty crowd. And for every emotionally draining story outside the ring, there results a physical struggle within that will, in the end, define character and determination. It’s that inability to hide from the opponent or oneself once the bell rings that separates boxing from any other sport. There is that odd vulnerability linked up so tightly with brutality that can be jarring when a boxer gets hurt. It’s in those desperate moments when a boxer reveals himself and his importance, and we, as fans, embrace him, flaws and all.

Matthew Hurley 2012

PART I

Protect Yourself at All Times

HAGLER VERSUS HEARNS: THE FIGHT

It’s almost hard to believe that it’s been over twenty-five years since Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas “Hitman” Hearns stepped into the ring at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas and waged war on one another. Their epic battle redefined boxing for a new generation of fans. Boxing had survived the end of Muhammad Ali’s career because a crop of brilliant young fighters burst in to the scene and forced the public to look down at the lighter weight ranks while the heavyweight division slowly redefined itself until the emergence of Mike Tyson. Suddenly it was the lightweights and, particularly, the welterweights who dominated the sport. It was out of the 147-pound class that Thomas Hearns appeared from out of Detroit, Michigan. A devastating right-hand puncher with a pure boxer’s grace, Hearns tore through opponents with a surgical precision. One loss, in his first superfight against fellow welterweight champion Sugar Ray Leonard, only seemed to fuel his desire to achieve the position of boxing’s number one star. And when Leonard refused him a rematch and then abruptly retired due to a detached retina, Hearns saw little recourse other than to move up in weight and challenge the only other fighter standing in his way. But Marvin Hagler, the middleweight champion who had his name legally changed to Marvelous, was having none of it. The blue-collar fighter out of Brockton, Massachusetts, let his fists do his talking for him in the ring, but privately, he seethed as his welterweight counterparts commanded the public’s attention and those big paydays he dreamed about while working construction as an up-and-coming fighter. His anger would be unleashed on April 15, 1985, at the quick clang of a bell. The hype surrounding a big fight often overshadows the event itself. When expectations are so high, disappointment is almost inevitable. In the case of Hagler and Hearns, it’s strange that not much is ed about the prefight buildup. Despite the fact that both were in their primes and deemed to be the best

in the business, neither man was much of a talker, so the fight seemed to simmer rather than come to a scalding boil. There were the intense stare-downs—these guys did not like each other after having to spend time together during promotional duties—and there was Hagler’s rather chilling mantra of “destruction and destroy,” but it really wasn’t until the two fighters made their ring walk that the fifteen thousand plus at Caesars and those watching on closed-circuit televisions felt that tension that something special was going to happen. Both fighters looked as though they were prepared to sacrifice anything for the greater glory—Hearns in his gold Kronk Gym trunks, chiseled facade, and goatee, and Hagler, in regal blue, pounding his bald head with his gloved fists as he waited to get at his man. The buildup for the fight had actually started in 1982. With the retirement of Leonard, Hearns became Hagler’s most likely big-name opponent. But injuries, bad timing, and an initial promotion that dropped the fight in Windsor, Ontario, killed the promotion. On a more practical note, Tommy was only just coming off his emotionally draining loss to Leonard and was just getting used to the 154-pound division, and he was not looking like the Hitman of old. In fact, he had reverted to a jaband-dance man, beating Wilfred Benitez for the WBC title over fifteen mostly sedate rounds. Meanwhile, Hagler bullied his way through several defenses of his precious title with methodical, workmanlike expertise. As good as he was and in the retrospective glow of his fight with Hearns, it’s hard to believe Hagler was not a huge draw in the sport—marketable, yes, but a superstar, no. It was in 1984 that everything changed, and the potential showdown became the most talked-about fight to be made. In two brutal rounds, Hearns destroyed Roberto Duran in what should have been a unification matchup for the junior middleweight title. Duran had been stripped of his WBA belt, so the fight was only for Hearns’s WBC strap. In one amazing performance of unbridled power and shocking violence, Tommy knocked Duran unconscious and set up the fight with Hagler at 160 pounds. An interim three-round knockout of contender Fred Hutchings furthered Hearns’s cause, and suddenly boxing was all about Hagler versus Hearns. And yet

because of the quiet demeanor of both fighters and their inability to feel comfortable in front of the press, it built slowly into a superfight on the basis of the boxers’ abilities and accomplishments. It was a promotion without personalities. Whom you liked going in was summed up perfectly by HBO broadcaster Larry Merchant, who opined, “Hagler is the strongest fighter Hearns has ever fought. Hearns is the best fighter Hagler has ever fought. We’re here to get the answers.” The Vegas odds agreed, and the numbers vacillated until fight time when HaglerHearns was a pick-’em affair. As Hagler loosened up in his dressing room, Tommy’s entourage, in the next room, banged on the walls, chanting, “Hitman, Hitman…” Hagler, focused, began to bob and weave, repeating over and over, “Destruction and destroy…” The banging on the walls and the cheers of Tommy’s overflowing team of friends and followers were unrelenting. According to a member of Hagler’s camp, the champion shook his head and said, “He can’t take them in there with him. It’s just me and him.” As he continued to warm up, sweat glistening his bald pate, the hushed tones of “destruction and destroy” became more ominous. Back in Hearns’s dressing room, the Hitman danced back and forth, his followers chanting his name and pumping their fists in the air. His trainer, Emanuel Steward, looked on with concern as a member of Tommy’s crew rubbed his muscled chest with baby oil. “I was nervous,” Steward said later. “Before we went to the dressing room, one of the hangers-on had rubbed Tommy’s legs down. A massage leaves the body spent, and Tommy’s legs began giving out on him even before we made the walk to the ring. I was nervous.” On the other hand, Hearns thought nothing of it at the time. Such was his belief in his power that he truly felt he would knock out Hagler early. “My whole plan was to take the fight to him,” he said. “I was going to knock him out in three. There was no doubt in my mind.”

And then the bell rang. Everything stopped, for just a moment, before all hell broke loose. A wicked, straight right hand from Hearns buckled Hagler’s knees as Tommy backed into the ropes. Sensing his moment, Hearns flailed away with both hands until they became a red blur. Hagler tied his challenger up, weathered the storm, and then fired back. And it went on… and on… and on. The two best fighters in the world threw caution to the wind and wailed away on one another with reckless abandon. When the round ended, both fighters glared at each other as the crowd at Caesars Palace, stunned by what they had just witnessed, exploded into applause usually reserved for rock stars. Many reporters later commented they had trouble articulating the violence they had just witnessed. But HBO announcer Barry Tompkins captured the moment when he barked into his microphone, “This may be the most brutal, even round you’ve ever seen in boxing.” For the most part, those three minutes decided the outcome of the fight. Hearns hurt and cut Hagler, but he didn’t knock him out. Not only that, he broke his right hand on Hagler’s seemingly impervious dome. Without his best weapon and with his legs feeling like rubber, he was lost, and Hagler just kept coming. “When I think of the shape he was in after that first round,” recollects Steward, “and to think, with his legs all fucked up and his right hand broke, the courage he showed was unbelievable.” Hagler, bloodied but unbowed, continued pursuit of his wounded prey. He clubbed Hearns with overhand rights and a few well-placed low blows. But a deepening cut on his forehead would add yet another dimension of tension to a fight already climbing up the ladder of all-time-great status. As the blood flowed down his face, referee Richard Steele called a time-out for the doctor to check on the laceration’s severity. The ringside physician took a look and then said, “It’s not bothering his sight… Let him go.” Wiping the blood from his brow, and knowing that his time was running out to

end matters, Hagler charged after Hearns and took him out with a lunging right hook that caught Tommy behind the ear. He followed up with a final, leaping right cross to the cheek, and Hearns inexorably toppled to the canvas. Somehow, from somewhere deep in his warrior’s heart, the stricken fighter struggled to his feet, but there was no fight left in him. Richard Steele waved the bout to a halt, and Hearns, his arms hanging limp at his side, fell into the referee’s protective embrace. The greatest bout of the decade was over at 2:01 of the third round. On another microphone, for another cable feed, broadcaster Al Michaels said, “It didn’t go very long, but it was a beauty.” There is an image that is both exhilarating and heartbreaking at a fight’s end. As Hagler is paraded around the ring on the shoulders of his handlers, Hearns, broken and weary, is carried back to his corner by his friend Q. B. Hines. The image, captured in several photographs that were published worldwide in the aftermath of the fight, illuminates what both fighters gave of themselves that night—Hagler, blood streaming down his face, battered but victorious, and Hearns, broken and exhausted, carried out on his shield. What they accomplished together that night set a standard that is very rarely reached in boxing, particularly a superfight. The two best fighters in the world simply set aim at each other and fired until one went down. “That’s how I had to do it,” Hagler said, kissing his fist at the postfight press conference. “That’s how sweet it is.” Years later, Larry Merchant captured the fight’s significance with a restrained eloquence that still seemed a bit breathless at the thought of it all. “For great stars to do that… to take all those risks, it has a timeless, epic quality.”

Note: Hagler-Hearns was named Ring Magazine’s 1985 Fight of the Year, and the round one was named Round of the Year.

BERNARD HOPKINS—AN AMERICAN SUCCESS STORY

It has been nearly twenty-six years since Bernard Hopkins walked out of Graterford State Penitentiary at the age of twenty-three after serving fifty-six months for strong-arm robbery. Hopkins, who entered prison as a Philadelphia street tough and already scarred up from three separate stab wounds, made a concerted effort to use his time behind bars to strengthen his resolve and prepare himself for a life outside the prison walls. It was during his incarceration that he discovered boxing, and he decided that not only would the fight game become his refuge, he would channel all the inner rage that still simmered within him into constructing a professional career that would keep him away from the troubled streets of the North Philadelphia neighborhoods. Hopkins would never leave Philadelphia, nor would he disown his often-violent past. In fact, he has used his indiscretions as a motivational tool in training and as a psychological weapon in the buildup to his bouts and during actual combat. The fighter known as the Executioner loves to use mind games to intimidate his opposition and pull them out of their game plan. That mental approach to not only boxing but to everything he does has turned a once very green boxing novice who lost his first professional bout to Clinton Mitchell in 1988 into a certain first-ballot Hall of Famer and a partner in one of the most successful and lucrative promotional-boxing firms, Golden Boy Promotions. At forty-three years of age, Bernard Hopkins can be looked upon as a genuine American success story. Over the years, Hopkins’s spartan-like approach to his profession has kept his body in the kind of physical-peak form seen only rarely in all sports. He has been at or near the top of boxing’s pound-for-pound ranks for nearly ten years and on April 19 will once again step into the ring against a formidable fighter whose credentials would seem to rival his own. Long-reigning super middleweight champion Joe Calzaghe will represent Hopkins’s sternest test since his middleweight heyday. Hopkins, who entered his last fight against light heavyweight champion Antonio Tarver as an underdog, will do so again against the pride of Wales. Yet rather than viewing those odds as

an insult, Hopkins relishes the role of the underdog. In fact, the loquacious fighter with the chip on his shoulder (and some would say perpetually paranoid) always views himself as the put-upon, solitary figure because he truly believes the majority of the boxing public—be they promoters, media scribes, announcers, or fans—would love to be rid of him. As he says, men who speak their minds, stand up for themselves, and are willing to take on the role of advocates will always find themselves surrounded by enemies—and Bernard Hopkins has made plenty of enemies during the course of his career. He still bristles whenever his two controversial losses to Jermain Taylor are brought up. It was the first loss to Taylor that brought his twenty consecutive, successful middleweight-title-defense streak to an end, and Hopkins believes that he not only won the fight but that it was taken away from him because of his difficult personality and the apparent crossover appeal of his more photogenic younger challenger. Indeed, HBO had been grooming Taylor for superstardom, and the decision victory for the Arkansas native led HBO broadcaster Jim Lampley to proclaim, “We have a new star in boxing!” Embittered in much the same way that Larry Holmes had been after losing the heavyweight championship to Michael Spinks in 1986, Hopkins would find a rather unlikely source of comfort from the media, the majority of whom felt he won the bout. The same held true when he lost another close decision to Taylor in the rematch. Rather than look back on his career with pride, await his call to the Hall of Fame, and keep the promise he made to his mother to retire at forty, he regrouped and prepared his body for a long-awaited assault on the light heavyweight division. Hopkins went on to produce a brilliant counterpunching clinic against Antonio Tarver, dominating his naturally bigger opponent and, in one unexpected performance, resurrecting his career and leapfrogging back into the pound-for-pound rankings. He followed that with another impressive performance against perennial top-ten fighter and one of the best defensive boxers of his generation Winky Wright. Hopkins used mind games, reminiscent of those he used against Felix Trinidad in his signature bout back in 2001, to unnerve his opponent. With Wright taken out of his game plan, Hopkins was then able to break apart Winky’s usually tight, tricky defense and win a unanimous decision. After that, there was only one logical opponent left—Joe Calzaghe.

It was in the media center at the weigh-in for last December’s Ricky Hatton— Floyd Mayweather bout in Las Vegas that the fireworks began. Hopkins and Calzaghe came face-to-face for the first time, and Bernard was up to his usual prefight histrionics. Professing that he would “never let a white boy beat me” in a sound bite that did exactly what Hopkins wanted—create controversy, Bernard immediately took on the role of the villain. It is a role he says he is comfortable with, and he knows the more outrageous his remarks, the bigger the promotion will become, and that, whether he cares to or not, Calzaghe will be asked to comment on it. It’s a more subtle way of getting under Joe’s skin. Although Calzaghe, the ultimate professional, maintains he is unbothered by Hopkins’s taunts, he is constantly being asked to give his opinion—something that could annoy even the most stoic of men. “I wasn’t offended by the remark,” Joes says. “Why should I be? It was a stupid comment for an adult to make. He made an idiot of himself, which is fine by me. If he thinks he’s going to intimidate me, he’s mistaken.” For his part, Hopkins says that he will beat Calzaghe so badly that his father/trainer, Enzo, will have to rescue his son. It’s the type of tough talk Bernard has developed into an art form. “Not only am I going to beat Joe Calzaghe, I’m going to punish him, and his father is going to have to save his son for another day. Just like with Trinidad [and his father/trainer, Felix Senior, who stopped their bout in the twelfth round], I’m getting another chance to make a father save his son.” As for the racially charged comment, Hopkins stands by it. He also goes on to reiterate a controversial remark Detroit Pistons’s guard Isiah Thomas made about Larry Bird regarding his skin color. In a recent self-penned article published in The Ring Magazine, Hopkins says, “It reminds me of Larry Bird. Great basketball player, but did he get his notoriety based and predicated on how he could play or that he can play more than the average guy his color can play?” Unwilling to let this drop, Bernard then asked the same question about Calzaghe. He finished his diatribe with a bit of egocentric patriotism. “Joe Calzaghe is the guy that I have to beat to show the Brits that we [America] are stronger and better.” This is all typical Bernard, a psychological ploy he learned all those years ago in

Graterford, and he has put it to good use during a remarkable twenty-year career. His opponents, even great ones like Calzaghe, often find themselves seething months before the opening bell rings because they can’t get Bernard’s endless verbiage out of their minds. And if that doesn’t work, and Hopkins can usually tell if it has or not, he will resort to a slap in the face as he did against Wright or tossing the Puerto Rican flag to the ground as he did in front of Trinidad. He will not let up until he finds the right button to push. Bernard Hopkins remains unapologetic, surly, arrogant, and the ultimate nonconformist. He has also continued to defy age by performing at the highest level, still capable of moments of utter brilliance in the ring. Outside the ring, he may sometimes come off as disagreeable, but inside he remains an absolute marvel. On April 19, he will again try to add to a fistic legacy already towering in its scope. Win or lose, Hopkins, the ultimate throwback fighter, has proven himself to be one of the all-time-great fighters and a unique example of the American dream.

Note: Joe Calzaghe beat Bernard Hopkins by a close split decision.

THE SHAKY LEGACY OF LENNOX LEWIS

Before Lennox Lewis stepped into the ring with Ukrainian giant Vitali Klitschko, many in the boxing world had finally accorded the heavyweight champion the respect he felt had so long been denied him. After thrashing Mike Tyson in eight one-sided rounds, Lewis had firmly established himself as the dominant big man of his era, and a graceful retirement seemed both imminent and appropriate. Instead, he signed on to fight lightly regarded, portly contender Kirk Johnson for what could only be described as a glorified payday and unfortunate box office dud. The heavyweight champion would be flying under the radar on the fight night. But something happened on the way to cashing that check. With only weeks to go and Lewis training halfheartedly, Johnson pulled out of the bout because of an injury to his pectoral muscle. Lennox was literally left holding a bag of money that the cable network HBO had shelled out for this debacle, and now there was no opponent. Ticket sales for the bout with Johnson had barely been moving to begin with, so the brass at HBO had to do something. Up stepped six feet eight Vitali Klitschko, a fighter of questionable heart and dubious talent—but one who had a huge following in Europe. His size alone brought intrigue, but there was also his placid demeanor and cropped haircut that reminded many of a Rocky-style villain. Suddenly ticket sales picked up, and interest started to brew in an improbable match that both combatants only had two weeks to prepare for. And within it all lurked Lewis’s greatest flaw as a fighter. His overwhelming ego led him to sloth, much as it had in his crushing knockout loss to Hasim Rahman. Such was his derision for Klitschko that the champion came into the bout at the second-heaviest weight of his career. The seed for an upset had been planted, and all Vitali had to do was show up and stand tough against a fighter who may have been ripe to be taken.

And that’s almost what happened. In as rousing and sloppy a heavyweight brawl that’s been seen in some time, the two behemoths slung power shots at one another with reckless, almostamateurish abandon. It wasn’t artful, but it was fun. Ironically, this back-and-forth slugfest really came down to one punch that all but missed. After two shaky rounds in which Vitali’s halting, straight-up, herkyjerky style had thrown Lewis completely off his game, the champion, visibly tired and gasping for breath, threw a right hand and raked the glove laces across Klitschko’s left eyebrow—opening a ghastly cut. The cut would prove to be not only the deciding factor in the fight but may, however tenuously, have saved Lewis’s reputation and place in boxing history. When the doctor stopped the fight after the sixth round, a collective sigh of relief exhaled from the Lewis corner. Still, the crowd did much to undermine his victory by booing him and cheering the valiant challenger who was still itching to fight and practically begging a flummoxed Lewis for a rematch. Lewis looked as though he just wanted to get the hell out of the ring and as far away from all of that as possible. Despite the champion’s assertion that he was on his way to a knockout victory had the fight continued, even with the cut impairing the challenger, Lewis wore that perplexed expression on his face that seemed to say, “Do I really want to go through that hell again?” He is, after all, closing in on forty years of age, and fighters, more than just about any other athlete, can lose whatever youth they cling to in an instant. One brutal encounter in the ring can exhaust a fighter’s reserves and leave him a shell of what he once was. And on this night, Lennox Lewis looked like a tired old champion. Unfortunately for Lewis, this one fight—one he probably should have avoided in regard to how little time he had to prepare for it—had cast another cloud over his legacy. None of this may seem fair to a fighter who avenged his losses and counts an Olympic gold medal among his awards, but such is the weight of the heavyweight crown. Regardless of what he’s accomplished, and he’s accomplished quite a bit, he has not transcended the sport and his title as Tyson did, and he has not won over the boxing public as the overachieving, crowd-pleasing Evander Holyfield did. He

is, in effect, this era’s Larry Holmes. Holmes, a great champion, was forever lost in the shadow of his predecessor, Muhammad Ali. He was never embraced by the public, much to his dismay, and now Lewis finds himself in much the same position. The age of time has been kind to Holmes, and revisionist history has elevated his standing in the heavyweight pantheon. But if Lewis doesn’t grant Klitschko a rematch and beat him decisively, there is a very good chance that he will forever be lost in the shadows—and that’s not where he wants to be. He cares deeply about his place in history. A rematch is a must, but Lewis, at least at this time, does not seem to be interested in fighting at all. In fact, he has stated that he will not fight again until possibly later this year. Or maybe he can’t get that thought out of his mind: “Do I really want to go through that hell again?” If he walks away, all the naysayers who have hounded him since he first claimed a championship belt will never let him live down his shaky performance against Klitschko or his two losses against Rahman and Oliver McCall. Those fights, along with a few others, will forever be pointed to as proof of his superiority in a mediocre era. He needs one final, decisive victory to wipe away the questions brought up by Klitschko. Had he sailed off into the sunset after the Tyson victory, there really wouldn’t be any questions about his worth, or they wouldn’t be spoken quite so loudly. But he’s being questioned all over again, and it must drive him crazy. It’s why he had that strange look on his face after the fight. If he does decide to retire, which is starting to seem more likely, maybe this underappreciated fighter has realized the true significance of what happened in the ring that night against Klitschko. His motivated challenger did everything he could to wrest the championship from him that night, but he didn’t succeed. Despite losing the crowd, which invariably happens when an underdog embodies the role, Lewis didn’t lose the fight. He still didn’t win any further respect, but maybe, like Larry Holmes, he will feel its embrace one day.

Note: Lennox Lewis never fought again. He was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 2009.

MELDRICK TAYLOR—TWO SECONDS IN TIME

There is an image of Meldrick Taylor that is haunting. It’s not of him falling from a right hand thrown by Julio Cesar Chavez and being stopped with two seconds remaining in their classic encounter. It’s not a selected image of any bout that came afterward as this once-fierce, brilliant fighter with the quick hands and ready smile came apart at the seams against opponents who up to that time wouldn’t have been able to lay a glove on him. It’s not even the more recent moments of his lack of mental acuity with a mind cloudy and a bit distant and a speech pattern muffled by what sounds like cotton stuffed in his mouth. This image is more sedate and speaks to the fighter that still inhabits Meldrick Taylor’s weary soul. He sits, brown leather slippers on his feet, and stares at the television set pushed up against the wall of his living room. He watches himself in that moment, that moment he can’t get back to, stumbling to his feet after absorbing a wicked punch from a man he had beaten soundly for eleven and a half rounds. He watches the referee Richard Steele wave the fight off with two seconds remaining in what should have been his crowning achievement—the one defining moment that would have made him a great fighter and led him triumphantly to the Hall of Fame years down the line. Instead, he rubs his face with his hand, shakes his head, and then freezes the picture on the television set with his remote control. With a sigh that reaches much lower into his very being than one can truly understand, he rewinds the moment and watches it again… and again. He watches his life come apart in mere seconds on the screen, for that is what happened that extraordinary night in 1990. And when he’s had his fill, he turns the television off and rests his head back on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Two seconds. Perhaps deep down he knows that if he had those two seconds back and managed to remain on his feet until the bell sounded, the accumulation of blows he took from Chavez may very well have left him in the situation he finds himself in now. But if he were speaking truthfully, it seems certain Meldrick Taylor would have accepted that fate because it would have been befitting of a “Philadelphia fighter.” And Meldrick has always prided himself on

being a tough Philadelphia kid. That’s what they called him, the Kid. He was overeager. He was flashy; he brawled when he should have boxed, and he was brilliant until his heart won out over his head. Regardless, he rewinds the tape, watches his younger self hit the canvas again, and wonders what might have been. There are so many tragic stories in boxing, and this particular fall from grace is as powerfully moving as any. Yet Meldrick’s story resonates because we all sometimes feel the fates are lined up against us, just itching to knock us to the ground. At some point in time, even the most optimistic of us experiences that precarious sense of fatalism. Meldrick Taylor, blessed with unusual speed and agility (and a healthy dose of cockiness to go with it for good measure), seemed to tempt those fates every time he stepped in the ring until they had finally had enough of him. His unwillingness to ever play it safe, even when far ahead in a bout, is what made him so compelling to watch but also dumped him right into the thick of things, swirling in a cauldron of punches, both legal and illegal, along with cuts, bruises, head butts, and nagging injuries. It was his undoing. The clock on his career ran faster than it did for other fighters and ran out two seconds before it should have. Taylor won an Olympic gold medal at the tender age of seventeen at the 1984 games. He was perhaps the most overlooked member of a team that included Evander Holyfield, Pernell Whitaker, and Tyrell Biggs. However, when he turned professional, everyone focused their attention from those bigger-name fighters to the little firebrand with the blazing fists and bright smile. He won his first title on September 3, 1988, when he took the IBF junior welterweight championship from James “Buddy” McGirt on a twelfth-round knockout. He followed that upset victory with five more wins before taking on the preeminent fighter in boxing at that time, Julio Cesar Chavez, in a unification matchup that became the high-water-mark bout of the 1990s. It was one of those rare fights that sured its prefight hype. It was a fight that left boxing fans gasping for breath and then relief in the final seconds of its twelve-round savagery. Then with just two seconds remaining, all the air left the boxing world, and fans of both fighters stood in shock as Steele waved the bout to a halt when it was all

but over anyway. Chavez became a national icon in Mexico after his heroic last charge while Taylor returned to Philadelphia, a broken shell of the fighter he once was. Two seconds was all it took to send two proud fighters in two very different directions. Boxing scribe Bernard Fernandez, who closely followed Taylor’s career, said, “He should have had his victory because he beat him for thirty-five minutes and fifty-eight seconds. He should have had his moment.” For nearly twelve rounds, Taylor dazzled the sellout crowd and the unbeaten Chavez with combinations that flowed from him like an out-of-control sprinkler system. The shots came from everywhere. Speed was the Kid’s ace in the hole, but Meldrick wouldn’t have been so beloved if he simply tossed jabs and danced out of harm’s way. No, Taylor embodied the tough streets of Philly where he grew up and where he learned, for better or not, that a man who deems himself a fighter fights with his heart and his stubbornness. He loved trench warfare in the ring and prided himself on his ability to brawl as well as box. It was a flaw he got away with in the early part of his career. But it finally caught up to him. Against Chavez, a fighter who defined the word tough, his love for planting his feet and throwing leather cost him dearly. He beat Chavez for eleven rounds, but Chavez beat Taylor up for twelve. Ron Borges, then a columnist for The Boston Globe, described the bout’s unbelievable finish perfectly when he compared Taylor to a Boston Marathon runner. “He’s just falling apart. Can this guy just make it to the finish line?” He couldn’t, or he wasn’t allowed to, depending on how you feel about Richard Steele’s stoppage of the fight. Dr. Flip Homansky, who worked the fight and examined Meldrick in his dressing room afterward, said, “Meldrick suffered a facial fracture and was urinating pure blood. This was a kid who was truly beaten up to the face, the body, and the brain.” “Yeah,” Borges concluded. “They should have stopped it.” But Taylor had beaten the count, and Chavez was on the other side of the ring, unable to get to him before time ran out. In fact, Chavez was so far out of the neutral corner (where a fighter is directed to go in the event of a knockdown) that he was in violation of the rule and would have, or should have, been

directed back to the corner by Steele before bringing the fighters back together. In other words, no more punches would have been thrown or landed on that night. It was basically over, save for those two seconds and Steele’s questionable decision. The controversy over the bout’s ending will always be hotly debated amongst boxing fans. Still, in the end, all that was left were the remnants of Meldrick Taylor—with all the fight beaten out of him and left to recline on his couch with slippers on his feet to watch that fight, that moment, endlessly on video, and shake his head in bewilderment. Taylor fought on. He even fought Chavez again, losing badly in eight rounds, and then things like thoughts and memories started to slip away from him, imperceptibly at first. Although he will tell you otherwise, his present condition, viewed with a comionate but analytical eye, is heartbreaking. All that had made him so wonderful to watch as a boxer conspired against him in the end. But as Fernandez said, “He should have had his moment.” He should have had that one triumphant ride high on the shoulders of his handlers, celebrating a victory he deserved—even if everything else in his future transpired as it did, considering what Chavez’s punches did to him. Taylor wants to continue to fight, and he will find venues to further his suffering, but he will also be turned away. Several districts, including New Jersey, refuse to license him, but his fighting spirit continues to delude him. Perhaps that delusion is comforting for broken-down fighters everywhere. It reminds them they are still and always will be fighters—the one thing that can’t be taken away from them. “I want to show people I’m still as good as I was ten years ago,” he says, the words slurring together into a verbal string. “I didn’t like to box all the time. It was too boring. I wanted to get in there and mix it up. Maybe I was too brave for my own good. I don’t know.”

Note: Chavez-Taylor I was voted 1990 Ring Magazine Fight of the Year. It was later named Fight of the Decade.

MARGARITO’S SITUATION BRINGS BACK BAD MEMORIES

In light of the recent controversy surrounding the hand wraps of Antonio Margarito and whether or not the chief cornerman, Javier Capetillo, applied a plaster-like substance to the wraps before Shane Mosley’s trainer, Naazim Richardson, demanded they be rewrapped, subsequently discovering the apparent transgression, thoughts of many turned to a shameful night in a packed Madison Square Garden back in 1983. That night, on the undercard of Roberto Duran’s eighth-round-TKO victory over WBA junior middleweight champion Davey Moore, welterweight Luis Resto battered rising contender Billy Collins for ten unmerciful rounds. Collins suffered hideous swelling around both eyes, which later revealed a torn iris that caused permanently blurred vision and ended his career. At the time, the boisterous crowd, anxiously awaiting Duran’s ring entrance, was unaware of the brewing controversy. Collins’s father, Billy Senior, who worked his son’s corner, shook Resto’s still-gloved hand in congratulations; where he should have felt padding, he felt nothing. The video, which can be seen on YouTube, shows an emotional Collins Senior shout out, “All the padding is out of the damn gloves! No padding!” Resto appears to look for his manager, Panama Lewis, before pulling away. Collins Senior then calls for the commissioner. The story continued to unfold as the gloves, but not Resto’s hand wraps, were confiscated in the dressing room by the New York State Athletic Commission. It was later confirmed that an ounce of padding had been removed from both eightounce gloves. The ongoing investigation resulted in convictions in 1986 of Resto—assault, conspiracy, and criminal possession of a deadly weapon, his fists. He was given a three-year sentence and served two and a half years and was banned from boxing for life. His disgraced trainer, Panama Lewis, who had been at the center of the “black bottle” scandal during the Arron Pryor—Alexis Arguello fight in 1982 (just what was in that water bottle he mixed that he kept feeding to Pryor

late in the bout?), was convicted on the same counts as well as tampering and served two and a half years of a six-year sentence. He was banned from being ringside for life. The whole sordid mess was further cast in a dark shadow when, nine months later, Billy Collins, his career over and depression and alcohol taking hold of his mind, crashed his car in a drunken haze, ending his life at twenty-two years of age. His father would forever maintain that his son committed suicide and holds that fateful night in the ring in 1983, the circumstances, and the participants responsible for his son’s tragic end. Resto would deny for years that he was aware that the gloves had been tampered with. In a 2000 interview with Steve Farhood, he would claim, “The gloves felt the same as always. There were no holes. If the padding was out, when you hit somebody, you’d feel pain. You’d break your hands. My hands were fine. And if I knew the gloves had been tampered with, why would I have gone to Collins’s corner after the fight to congratulate him?” Jump ahead eight years, and Resto’s song does not remain the same. In a documentary entitled Cornered, directed by Resto’s friend Eric Drath, the fighter not only comes clean about the missing padding but also the hand wraps that were not confiscated by the commission. In an ission that only added insult to injury, Resto claims that the trainer, Lewis, also put plaster on the tape over his knuckles, which basically hardened into a cast. For ten rounds, Collins was being hit with unpadded fists encased in plaster, equivalent of two concrete blocks slamming into his face. Resto also itted that Lewis had done the same in two previous fights and never protested his trainer’s heinous indiscretion. “I said, ‘Let’s go ahead and do it’” (article by Tim Smith, Daily News, April 4, 2008). Lewis denies the new allegations. Recently, Collins’s widow, Andrea Collins-Nile, filed a motion to reopen the case against the New York State Commission. In the aftermath of Shane Mosley’s destruction of Antonio Margarito, once again

a fighter and his trainer are coming under heavy scrutiny by not only the California State Athletic Commission but by fans and the media. In regard to Margarito’s current situation, boxing writer Michael Rosenthal commented, “If they find plaster in the pads, it could haunt him. The obvious question: Is plaster the reason he finally reached the top of the boxing world after so many years as a journeyman? The thought is heartbreaking.” Although all should withhold judgment until the commission’s investigation is complete, both Margarito and his chief cornerman, Javier Capetillo, were temporarily suspended. Fighter and trainer have been asked to appear at a hearing scheduled for February 10, 2009. Margarito, apparently reeling from the accusations, recently told ESPN Deportes that his trainer used no foreign substance on the wrap. “What they removed was tape. I don’t want the people to think that I won my fights because of a hand wrap. I won them because of my training and my sacrifice.” Should the commission return with findings that suggest otherwise, Antonio Margarito’s recent accomplishments in the ring will fall under a heavy veil of suspicion. He could also face stiff penalties, both monetary and a lengthy suspension. Heartbreaking indeed.

Note: Margarito’s license was later revoked for one year by the CSAC. He was granted a license after reapplication, but his career was never the same. He would lose badly to Manny Pacquiao and Miguel Cotto in subsequent bouts.

UPSETS ALWAYS IN THE OFFING

There is nothing quite like an upset—in any sport. But when it comes to boxing, the upset reminds us all that anything can happen, at any given moment, during those three-minute rounds. As HBO commentator Larry Merchant once said, “Boxing is the theater of the unexpected.” Still, boxing can be, and often is, highly predictable, particularly when one considers all the bad matchups that occur on a fairly regular basis. The almighty 0 in the loss column has become something of a badge of honor for many of today’s fighters who avoid challenges to protect that precious undefeated record. The most famous proponent of this bit of nonsense is one of the best fighters to come down the pike in years—Floyd Mayweather. He speaks of his undefeated ledger ad nauseum. Yet a loss in the ring should never take away any amount of pride from a boxer as long as he acquitted himself irably. But the upset is a true necessity in boxing. It shakes things up, and it can humble even the most arrogant of men. As Manny Pacquiao and Antonio Margarito continue their preparations for their showdown on November 13 at Cowboy Stadium in Arlington, Texas, most fans and media scribes are anticipating nothing short of an extended beat-down and, it is presumed, that Pacquiao will be doing all the damage. After all, the Pac-Man is generally regarded as not only the best the sport has to offer but also a potential all-time great. He’s become a national figure, one worthy enough to have his mug on the cover of a regional edition of Time magazine. He’s exciting in the ring; he’s charmingly low-key, and he takes his profession seriously. He’s a very easy guy to root for, and he appears to be in his prime. Margarito is another story altogether. His notoriety precedes him now. Once he was feared in the ring for his relentless forward aggression and cast-iron chin. Some even likened him to the monstrous character Jason from the Friday the

13th movies—an unstoppable force that soaked up punishment and just kept coming and coming. He broke out into stardom after taking apart a surging Miguel Cotto in a war of attrition and seemed to have all the ingredients that a crossover star needs. He was a lunch-pail, blue-collar guy who suffered through anonymity until finally getting his shot at glory, and he willed himself to make it happen. He was also a nice guy and seemed to have everything going for him. Then came the infamous loaded-gloves scandal before the biggest fight of his life against Sugar Shane Mosley. His boxing license was eventually stripped from him, and endless questions as to what he did or didn’t know hovered over and around him like a black cloud. To many, Margarito should not only not be fighting Pacquiao—he shouldn’t be allowed to fight at all. His transgression was the most egregious a fighter could make. Even those who believe that he had no knowledge of what had been inserted into his hand wraps before his bout with Mosley should concede that he has done nothing to earn this opportunity. He was brutally knocked out by Mosley in the ninth round after his fists were rewrapped. The California State Athletic Commission refused to license him, so he fled to Texas after being idle for a year’s suspension. He then looked average at best in his return bout, winning a decision over Roberto Garcia. Those are hardly the credentials necessary to perform on the grand stage. In fact, were it not for his promotional ties to Bob Arum and Top Rank, which also promotes Pacquiao, this fight never would have even been considered. Margarito has consistently maintained he had no knowledge of any tampering with his hand wraps. But this is boxing. A sport filled with devious and dark characters, moral bankruptcy, and downright criminality. However, it can also be the most beautiful of sports. Flip the coin, and on the other side of all that sludge are honest men of courage, skill, and humanity. At its highest level, it can resemble an exquisite, brutal ballet of athletic excellence. There is nothing quite like fight night, and nothing, not in any sport in this writer’s opinion, can produce the fervent energy and ion among a crowd as two primed fighters shaking themselves loose in anticipation of that opening

bell. Which makes this fight all the more odd. With all the baggage it carries, what if Margarito wins? What if this villain, in the eyes of so many, pulls off the colossal upset? He’s bigger than Pacquiao, much bigger in fact, and he has nothing to lose. His recent comments indicate that he understands his precarious position when it comes to public approval, so he views this bout in both redemptive and as a last-ditch effort to salvage a once-promising career. What if Pacquiao beats him to a pulp round after round as Thomas Hearns did to Iran Barkley in their first fight back in 1988 and suddenly gets complacent, grins as he often does, and ires his work? All it takes is a split second and then boom! Hearns found that out after literally tearing Barkley’s face to pieces and doubling him over with wicked left hooks to the body. But one mistake, one moment of laziness, and he was flat on his back. The chances of that happening to Pacquiao are slim. But they were slim in the Hearns-Barkley bout and in the welterweight fight between champion Donald Curry and upstart challenger Lloyd Honeyghan and when an unfocused Lennox Lewis got clocked by Hasim Rahman and, of course, in the mother of all upsets, Mike Tyson falling to Buster Douglas. It’s inevitable. Upsets happen because in the ring, no matter how great you are, anything can come into play. Be it outside distractions (of which Pacquiao has multitudes though he has handled them all well up to now), suffering a cut during the bout (a concern Manny’s trainer, Freddie Roach, has itted his charge does not handle well), or being confronted with an opponent who just won’t go away when you are not at your best. And he just keeps coming and coming. It’s unlikely that Pacquiao will suffer through any of this against Margarito, but this is boxing, and whatever you may think of Antonio Margarito, he is a man with his back to the wall, and he’s desperate, which makes him dangerous. The theater of the unexpected—it’s what makes this unwarranted showdown oddly compelling.

Note: Pacquiao won an easy unanimous decision over Margarito.

THE GREATEST KNOCKOUT OF THE LAST THIRTY YEARS

All things being subjective in the world of sports, the knockout, quick and clean, ranks high up among the most thrilling moments in athletic competition. And when a spine-tingling, one-punch knockout happens between two fighters at the highest level of the profession, nothing, not even a major-league pitcher closing in on a perfect game, is so shockingly dramatic. Such a thing happened on the night of June 15, 1984, at Caesars Palace on a hot evening in Las Vegas, Nevada. There have been many memorable knockouts over the last twenty-five years, ranging from fighters who weigh less than the equipment of a football linebacker to the lumbering girth of the modern-day heavyweights. Some, like Donald Curry’s quick left-hook knockout of Milton McCrory in the second round of their 1985 welterweight unification fight, are almost a thing of beauty. Others, like Ray Mercer’s savaging of Tommy Morrison in the fifth round of their 1991 heavyweight bout, are cringe-inducing. All fight fans have that one particular night, either sitting at the ringside or lounging on the couch at home in front of the television, where a bout ended and the moment when fist met target became ingrained in their memory. “The greatest knockout I’ve ever seen” becomes the refrain. There are so many to choose from, but one stands out because of the participants involved and because it was so unexpected. It also helped fuel the fire and ratchet up the anticipation for a middleweight showdown the following year that would become, arguably, the best fight of the decade. When WBC junior middleweight champion Thomas Hearns squared off against former WBA champion Roberto Duran in 1984, it was supposed to be a unification bout. Duran, who had moved up to the middleweight division to challenge Marvelous Marvin Hagler for the championship, was ordered to defend his title against Mike McCallum in his next bout. After losing a close decision to Hagler, Duran instead opted to take on Hearns, and his belt was stripped. But Hearns and Duran, two parts of what would be dubbed the Fabulous Four along with Hagler and Sugar Ray Leonard, were bigger than the belts, and the bout was signed.

The general consensus was that the fight would probably turn into a boxing match with Hearns using his height and reach to keep Duran at bay while Roberto would try to bully Tommy into the ropes and pound his midsection. Since his loss to Sugar Ray Leonard in 1981, Hearns no longer assumed the moniker of the Hitman but instead was introduced before bouts as the Motor City Cobra, and his ring performances justified that. With the exception of a quick knockout of Marcos Geraldo, Tommy had become the jab-and-dance man. He annexed the WBC junior middleweight title from Wilfred Benitez over fifteen tactical rounds and didn’t seem to be the willing assassin he was at welterweight. However, going into the Duran bout, he predicted a second-round knockout. Whether it was bravado or not, the betting public and the media weren’t buying into it. Roberto Duran had never been knocked out and had only been down twice in his long professional career—both quick trips to the canvas coming against lightweight rival Esteban De Jesus. Right from the opening bell, the disparity in size became alarmingly apparent. Hearns towered over Duran, and his left jab, snapping out from his hip, kept the Panamanian off-balance. Hearns began pushing the smaller Duran around the ring, targeting his belly with the jab and coming over the top with booming right hands. Duran, rarely cut, began to bleed over his left eye and started to paw at the wound with his glove. Then coming off the ropes, Hearns again jabbed to the chest and fired a right hand over the top, dropping Duran on the seat of his trunks. Duran, seemingly more surprised than hurt, jumped up and took the mandatory eight count. Hearns charged across the ring and pummeled Roberto, nearly knocking him out of the ring before depositing him on the canvas again with a left hook to the body. Duran beat the count at the bell, and Hearns, in a measure of respect, extended his left glove to the woozy fighter. Duran touched gloves and then wandered off to the wrong corner. The inevitability of what was to come hung in the air, but the crowd at the outdoor arena at Caesars Palace seemed as dazed as to what was happening to Duran. Hearns, now oozing confidence, approached center ring and again touched gloves with Duran. It would be the last civil thing he did. Gliding around the ring and looking like a demented black vampire with his

goatee and Jheri curls, the Hitman (he had reassumed the moniker for the fight) went in for the kill. Pushing Duran backward, he leapt in and clobbered the cowering fighter with a vicious right hand that staggered Duran back into the ropes again. Hearns bounced backward and then jumped in again with another vicious right hand and began pummeling his prey with a series of punches that kept Duran standing straight up. Roberto tried to move off the ropes, so Hearns lured him out and then pushed him back with two probing left jabs to the chest before dropping the coup de grâce. The final right hand that crashed over Duran’s guard was so brutal, the impact twisted his head to the side and sucked all the air out of the arena. A collective gasp went up as Roberto Duran fell face forward to the canvas. There would be no count. Duran’s cornermen jumped into the ring as Hearns leapt onto the shoulders of his handlers. It was the most dramatic knockout of Thomas Hearns’s career and upped the ante for his potential challenge of Marvelous Marvin Hagler for the middleweight championship. Hearns would fight one more bout before that showdown, a three-round blast out of contender Fred Hutchings, but he would never again be so brilliantly devastating. So compelling is the sport of boxing—so filled with complex, intriguing characters that embody a myriad of styles and personalities that fans debate endlessly about every facet of the game. Everything is open for discussion, but there are certain fighters, certain fights, and certain outcomes that must be held in a certain amount of reverence. Thomas Hearns’s knockout of Roberto Duran is one of those. Its significance cannot be questioned. Where it ranks among the greatest knockouts of all time can be argued, but it must be included. From this corner, however, it ranks as the greatest knockout of the last thirty years.

DE LA HOYA SCOPES OUT OPPONENTS FOR 2008

In the weeks leading up to the Ricky Hatton—Floyd Mayweather welterweight title bout, promoter Oscar De La Hoya used the vast media attention the bout was garnering to drop hints as to whom he would fight in 2008. De La Hoya confirmed, in the aftermath of his split-decision loss to Mayweather in May, that he would fight two more times and was looking for a suitable dance partner to set up a megafight in either Dodger Stadium or Yankee Stadium. The first name that came up had people shaking their heads in disbelief. At first, it seemed to be nothing more than an Internet rumor, but then it became apparent that because of the amount of money involved and the idea of a catchweight, the promoter of De La Hoya was seriously considering it. Yet the trainer Freddie Roach dissuaded notions of a fight between his charge Manny Pacquiao and the Golden Boy as unreasonable. “I don’t believe Oscar can go to 147 pounds,” Roach said on the Philippine radio show Sports Chat. In private, Roach had certainly wondered how this matchup was ever even considered feasible, but in the world of boxing, nothing comes as much of a surprise anymore, and the soft-spoken trainer kept his comments circumspect. Still, Manny hasn’t even fought at 135 pounds yet, so the whole idea was a ludicrous proposal to begin with. But Oscar represents a huge payday for any top fighter willing to play the B side to his A side, which is why, despite being nothing more than a part-time fighter these days, everyone from junior welterweight to junior middleweight is being considered as a possible opponent. And the word considered is of paramount importance. De La Hoya wants to go out as a winner, so it would be astonishing if he called out Miguel Cotto or lesser names, but no less daunting challengers, like Kermit Cintron, Paul Williams, Vernon Forrest, or Antonio Margarito. Case in point, after the rumors of a Pacquiao match were brushed aside, De La Hoya again used his visibility during the Hatton-Mayweather prefight press conferences to suggest a bout with the challenger for the bout he was promoting, Ricky Hatton. Oscar went on record to predict a Hatton-decision victory and also intimated that a bout between the two in the spring was being seriously

discussed and would possibly wind up in England’s Wembley Stadium. In the event that Hatton lost, the bout still seemed feasible because of the popularity of both fighters and, again, the ridiculous amount of money that would be involved. But Mayweather threw a monkey wrench into the equation by dissecting and then concussing Hatton in the tenth round. The bout sustained Mayweather’s standing as boxing’s top-rated fighter and also proved that Hatton is simply not a welterweight. Still, at the postfight press conference, De La Hoya, in a rather odd commentary on Hatton’s worthiness as a future opponent after such a decisive defeat, felt assured that the bout was still doable. “It’s still a viable fight,” he said to the media who were waiting for Hatton and Mayweather to take their turns at the microphone. “With my style and his whirlwind style, it would be exciting.” Perhaps sensing that no one was buying his latest spiel, Oscar switched gears and began to heap praise upon the head that still wears the crown, Floyd Mayweather. “There is no doubt now that Floyd Mayweather is the pound-for-pound champion,” he said not once but several times and would continue to reiterate to reporters after the press conference. It was as if the promotional wheels were spinning in his mind, and he knew that this was the perfect opportunity to plant the seeds for a possible rematch with Mayweather. Why not? The first fight, though a fistic disappointment, was a financial and commercial juggernaut that became the highest-grossing bout in boxing history. On top of that, Oscar knows that Floyd is not a murderous puncher, and he knows that he fought closely with the Pretty Boy until he ran out of gas down the stretch. He’s also aware that because of Floyd’s ego and lust for money, Mayweather would undoubtedly be up for a second go-around. Floyd itted as much at the postfight press conference during yet another alleged “retirement” speech when he looked over his shoulder and said, “But if Golden Boy Promotions can put that money on the table, I might not have a choice.” The fact remains that although De La Hoya is still the golden goose in boxing, despite a record of three losses in his last five fights, his choices for a suitable opponent in his next bout are quite limited, and it seems more than reasonable

that he will settle upon a second go-round with Mayweather. He certainly can’t fight Ricardo Mayorga again! “He’s at the point in his career now where he only wants to prove that he can still compete at a certain level,” Golden Boy Promotions matchmaker Eric Gomez told reporter Robert Morales. “Oscar almost had Mayweather, man. It was a close fight. [If] one round could have been scored for Oscar, it would have been the other way around. We’re not trying to take away from Mayweather. Ok, yeah, he beat him, that’s fine. But it was a close fight.” It’s all speculation at the moment, but it’s hard to envision De La Hoya taking on a rabid young body-punching machine like Miguel Cotto when a bigger bundle of money could be added to his pile if he got Mayweather to agree to a return bout. What isn’t speculation is that regardless of what you think of him or whether or not you believe he even deserves to be in the position to still command the center stage in the boxing universe, Oscar De La Hoya remains a promoter’s dream, and lo and behold, the fighter is now a promoter himself and a very successful one to boot. His fan base still far outnumbers nearly any other fighter you can name, so 2008 will bring yet another De La Hoya event, and he will pick and choose whom he wants to him in the ring. There’s a very good chance he will choose “Pretty Boy” Floyd Mayweather. If that turns out to be the case, hopefully, the second fight will be more exciting than the first.

HAS DE LA HOYA’S SHTICK GOTTEN OLD?

As the opening bell for the Oscar De La Hoya—Manny Pacquiao fight approaches and the publicity machine ratchets it up another notch, Oscar, the savvy veteran with dozens of these media blitzes under his belt, has metamorphosed into the confidently contained sound-bite machine he has perfected over the years. Despite a record of 3-3 in his last six bouts and fighting basically once a year, De La Hoya remains the undisputed king of the boxing box office. No matter how marginalized boxing has become in the mainstream, the sport peeks out from the shadows when Oscar takes center stage. He remains oddly compelling to the glitterati, perhaps because he long ago became one of them, and yet in boxing circles, his act has slowly worn thin with each successive event he headlines. Not because he can’t fight at a high level anymore, but because his shtick has all the redundancy of a Newton’s cradle—the five-ball office toy that Oscar probably has on his corporate desk at Golden Boy Promotions. When it comes to prefight histrionics, every De La Hoya smile, every pose, and every utterance looks and sounds rehearsed. Even when Oscar grits his teeth and tries to come off as angry and intense, as seen on HBO’s marvelous 24/7 series, you can’t entirely take him seriously. So long ago did this man step into the Hollywood fold that his presentation to the public and the media is immaculately calculated and ultimately hollow. No matter how well packaged the image, there is a residue of phoniness encapsulating it. The litany of Oscarisms over the years makes each archived interview interchangeable from year to year and fight to fight. “This is the hardest I’ve ever trained in my life.” “This is my life. This is what I do. This is who I am.” “Now I’m actually really focused because this fight is so important to my

career.” “This trainer is the greatest trainer I’ve ever worked with. I’ve learned so much.” Oscar has said this one about a dozen times. Still, despite his somewhat-disingenuous approach, there remains much to appreciate about Oscar. As a promoter, he has made a concerted effort to create the best matchups possible by entering into a shaky truce with Top Rank promoter, and former enemy, Bob Arum. Without a stellar heavyweight on the scene, even this diminished De La Hoya can step into the fold once a year and put boxing back into the mind-set of a fickle and often-disinterested public. His celebrity affords him the luxury of picking and choosing opponents and commanding astronomical paydays—a source of irritation for many in the latter stages of his career. Boxing still needs this guy, and Oscar knows it. That smile of his always looks a little too perfect for a prizefighter, but the Golden Boy always seems to have something to smile about whether or not he wins or loses in the ring. Yet he is more a promoter and a salesman now than a stellar pugilist, and it has been that way for years. There’s a reason why he and his contingents are all decked out in Ring Magazine T-shirts and hats and why the canvas of the ring he spars in has the magazine’s logo emblazoned on it—Golden Boy Promotions purchased the legendary publication back in 2007. Oscar maintained upon closing the deal that the editorial content of the magazine would not be influenced by him or by anyone in his company. With the editor in chief Nigel Collins still manning the ship, that has been the case. The salesman in Oscar though was again evident as The Ring Magazine logo became an omnipotent image in each 24/7 episode. Why not use the HBO platform to help market some merchandise during the holiday season? Even Pacquiao’s trainer, Freddie Roach, now persona non grata in Oscar’s world, itted to the marketing genius De La Hoya has fostered over the years. You can even read Oscar’s daily blog at http://ringtv.craveonline.com/ which basically consists of the usual rhetoric. “I’m going to win because I’m in great shape. I’m going to win because I feel young. I’m going to win because I’m hungry” (November 29, 2008). Freddie Roach has also made blog entries.

Surprisingly, Oscar’s performance on 24/7 has been completely overshadowed by the reticent and refreshingly shy Manny Pacquiao. The pound-for-pound king is devoid of pretensions and seems to inhabit the enormity of his world with astonishing humility. Roach himself worries only about Manny’s unceasing generosity, but there is little to worry about once the whirling dervish from the Philippines enters the ring. With Roach at his side, he has evolved into a more complete fighting machine than the beast who ravaged Marco Antonio Barrera back in 2003. Pacquiao is an iconic figure in his homeland, but a win over the naturally bigger De La Hoya on December 6 at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas would do wonders in crossing over this perpetually exciting fighter to casual boxing fans in the United States. A Pacquiao win would be great for boxing because it can come only in a bout of dramatic proportions, and that is what boxing needs—not simply another De La Hoya event but a fight that exceeds the pomposity of the event itself. Pacquiao delivers excitement on a consistent basis. He knows no other way to fight. De La Hoya, on the other hand, has often been lackluster. His loss to Floyd Mayweather in 2007 in the biggest money fight in boxing history was a dull affair although he can certainly bring the fire into the ring even at this late stage of career. Witness his blowout of overmatched Ricardo Mayorga in 2006. But his unfettered ability to fight whomever he wants whenever he wants and his polished-to-a-glossy-sheen image has grown tiresome. Boxing may still need Oscar as a representative, more outside the ring than in, but what it really needs is an exciting new generation of fighters to escape from behind the enormity of Oscar’s shadow rather than constantly spinning the oldies. A win by Pacquiao would help shake things up. A win by De La Hoya will lead to another long spell of inactivity, another 24/7 (this time probably with Ricky Hatton), and more of the same.

DE LA HOYA—PACQUIAO: A SUPERFIGHT IN QUESTION

In the weeks leading up to the WBA welterweight championship bout between Miguel Cotto and Antonio Margarito, rumors abound as to whom Oscar De La Hoya will choose as his dance partner in what is alleged to be his final fight in December. After Floyd Mayweather unexpectedly retired, De La Hoya went through with his tune-up fight against Steve Forbes, winning by unanimous decision, and then sat back with that omnipotent and oh-so-annoying smile on his face. In the end, it really didn’t matter whom he fought because when Oscar occasionally sets foot in the ring, his ants dance with glee on their desktops. An Oscar De La Hoya fight means cash and lots of it, regardless of who is swapping leather with him. No matter whom he fights, Oscar will get paid and paid handsomely, and the masses will come. Unfortunately for Oscar, many hardcore fans have grown tired of his act. Make no mistake, when De La Hoya was a full-time fighter, his naysayers were always being more than a bit disingenuous in their disdain for him. He may have crossed over into superstardom and the Fortune 500 Club, but he fought nearly everyone of note and held his own in every single bout, win or lose (the one glaring exception being his loss to Bernard Hopkins). Oscar may have been a pretty-boy star with well-rehearsed sound bites, but he was tough to the core—a true fighter. As time wore on though, he became more businessman than fighter, and those who disliked him before now loathe his apparent money lust as he dodges true contenders in the welterweight and junior middleweight divisions. On top of his apparent unwillingness to engage fighters like Miguel Cotto and Antonio Margarito, his record in his past six fights, dating back to 2003, is 3-3— with his ugly unanimous-decision victory over Felix Sturm in 2004 seen by many as a gift. That present was wrapped up with a shiny bow in order to keep his already-scheduled pay-per-view date with middleweight champion Bernard

Hopkins in check. Hopkins would knock the Golden Boy out with a body shot in the ninth round. So after Cotto and Margarito finished waging war on one another, with Antonio emerging victorious by a thrilling eleventh-round technical knockout, many were hoping against hope that Oscar would step up and take on the true king of the welterweight division. That notion was not just impractical—it was silly. Oscar was never going to fight either one of those two 147-pound monsters. Mayweather wanted no part of them either. De La Hoya, who didn’t look particularly impressive against feather-fisted Steve Forbes, was suddenly lobbying for a fight with junior welterweight Ricky Hatton. In fact, he was trying to sell the bout to reporters hours after Mayweather had knocked the Hitman out back in December of 2007. He wanted a rematch with Mayweather, and it seemed a sure thing, but he also wanted to set up the popular Hatton as a potential future opponent. That should have set off the alarm bells that Oscar had no intention of fighting anyone he didn’t outweigh by at least ten pounds, and it certainly left Cotto and Margarito out in the cold. When it became apparent that Oscar would look even further down the scale at current pound-for-pound king Manny Pacquiao, his detractors smiled derisively and said, “See, I told you so.” Pacquiao had just made his debut at lightweight, winning the WBC title from David Diaz by an impressive ninth-round technical knockout. Pacquiao’s trainer, Freddie Roach, who trained De La Hoya for his losing effort against Mayweather, was all for the bout. It would represent one of the biggest paydays Manny will likely ever get and, should he win, transform the already wildly popular fighter into a crossover superstar. From the point of view of Manny’s camp, it was a no-brainer. But Pacquiao waved the fight off at first. Of course, it all dealt with money, but when more was put on the table and Roach put him in a headlock and explained to him in nickels and dimes what was at stake, the Filipino icon smiled, nodded, and signed on the dotted line. What difference did it make that he would be adding twelve pounds from his last fight? What difference did it make that he would be entering the ring over forty pounds heavier than his professional debut in 1995? Money doesn’t just talk; it screams, and if any fighter deserves a huge payday, it is Manny Pacquiao.

The fight, set to take place at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas on December 6, has garnered tremendous criticism from fans and pundits alike. But is it warranted? Those who believe that Pacquiao is way too small to get inside of De La Hoya’s six-inch-reach advantage should be reminded that the much slower and comparably sized Steve Forbes had little problem connecting against Oscar. In fact, the light-hitting and slightly intimidated fighter bruised up Oscar’s face. (Forbes stands 5 feet 7½ inches with a 68-inch reach. Pacquiao stands 5 feet 6½ inches with a 67-inch reach.) Pacquiao is also coming off one of the best performances of his career while De La Hoya hasn’t truly looked good against a world-class opponent since his rematch loss to Shane Mosley five years ago. Oscar has also come up short in several of his big-time bouts—Felix Trinidad, Mosley twice, Hopkins, and Mayweather. One should wonder if that plays on his mind, particularly when he’s heard all the criticism leveled at his decision to take on Manny in the first place. It’s really a no-win situation for Oscar. He wins—well, he’s bigger, stronger—he was supposed to win. He loses and his detractors have yet another disappointment in his career to point out. As for Pacquiao, he’s already positioned himself into the win column. His willingness to fight anyone has endeared him to the hardcore fan base. He’s a living legend in his native Philippines (and something of an adopted countryman among Mexican fans because of his thrilling style despite his series of bouts with Mexican idols Erik Morales, Marco Antonio Barrera, and Juan Manuel Marquez.) And at twenty-nine years of age, he seems to be peaking. With this fight, he is guaranteed a monster payday, and if he pulls off the upset, he replaces De La Hoya as boxing’s biggest attraction. Not bad for a guy who was once knocked out by Medgoen Singsurat in Thailand when no one thought he would amount to anything. The De La Hoya—Pacquiao fight will be a huge event, and most of those who say they will boycott the fight will cave in and buy it in the end. And the reason they will is because even if it turns out to be a farce and Oscar overwhelms Manny, the event itself will transcend the fight. It will become, in the weeks prior to the opening bell, must-see TV to any boxing junkie because the buildup will be overwhelming, and nonboxing fans will suddenly become interested— such is the appeal of Oscar De La Hoya. And the mere thought that Pacquiao might actually pull off the upset against the aging Golden Boy is much too

intriguing a notion for any true fan to up.

Note: Pacquiao dominated De La Hoya, stopping him in the eighth round.

JUAN MANUEL MARQUEZ—READY FOR DIAZ BUT STILL SEEKING PACQUIAO

After losing a split decision to Manny Pacquiao in a spirited rematch of their 2004 draw, Juan Manuel Marquez was understandably livid. Once again, the master boxer proved a near-unsolvable puzzle for the Filipino whirlwind. But once again, it would prove to be a knockdown, scored by Pacquiao in the third round, which would prove to be the deciding factor. Pacquiao, determined to add the lightweight title to his ever-growing collection of belts, moved up from super featherweight to 135 pounds and dominated WBC champion David Diaz, stopping him after nine frightfully one-sided rounds. The Pac-Man had seemingly reaffirmed his status as the number one pound-forpound fighter in the sport. But Marquez was having none of it. Still seething over the decision loss to Pacquiao he felt he deserved, Dinamita followed his rival up to lightweight and took on the linear champion Joel Casamayor. In a highly anticipated battle of two slick counterpunchers, Marquez pulled ahead in the later rounds, finally knocking out the Cuban in the eleventh round with a terrific right hand. But if Marquez thought the impressive victory over the slick Casamayor would set up a third Pacquiao fight for all the lightweight marbles, he was mistaken. After only one fight at 135 pounds, Pacquiao jumped up to welterweight to take on Oscar De La Hoya in 2008’s biggest matchup. Although disappointed, Marquez conceded that the fight with De La Hoya was a no-brainer for his rival, considering all the money involved fighting the Golden Boy. “The third fight will probably not happen,” he said after defeating Casamayor at the postfight press conference. “But I’ve already proved I can beat Manny Pacquiao.” He was once again reiterating his belief that he didn’t just deserve the decision in the rematch but in the first fight as well. After Pacquiao demolished De La Hoya, Marquez may have been crossing all

his fingers and toes in the hopes of getting the coveted rubber match, but Manny will first dip down to the junior welterweight division to take on Ricky Hatton in another megafight. As Pacquiao’s agenda for the final stages of his career dictate only huge money fights, Marquez may indeed be left out in the cold. However, that doesn’t mean he cannot further his cause as the best fighter in the world by taking on one tough opponent after another. After dismantling Casamayor in such exciting fashion, he will now take on Juan “Baby Bull” Diaz at the Toyota Center in Houston, Texas, on February 28. The fight, matching the technical grace and counterpunching firepower of Marquez and the defensively improved buzz saw that is Diaz, has excitement written all over it. After losing to Nate Campbell and amidst endless headaches concerning his contract with Don King, Diaz rebounded with a dominant performance over the hard-hitting Michael Katsidis. (Diaz was awarded a split decision as judge Glen Hamada inexplicably scored the bout 115-113 for Katsidis.) The fight with Diaz represents another stern challenge for a boxer willing to step into the ring with anyone. Despite this warrior spirit, albeit wrapped up inside supreme technical proficiency, it is only in recent years that Marquez has stepped out of the shadows cast by the two biggest Mexican stars of his time—Erik Morales and Marco Antonio Barrera. Although he would eventually get Barrera in the ring, winning by decision, he was always the third wheel in that Mexican triumvirate, and that slight only further added to both his bitterness and desire to prove his worth. After g with Golden Boy Promotions, Marquez believed his career trajectory was turned around and the respect he felt he always deserved started to come his way. “When I signed with Golden Boy, my career changed dramatically,” he said recently in a Ring Magazine interview with Brent Matteo Alderson. “It made a 180-degree turn.” In fact, there are many who now view Marquez as the best of the three Mexican fighters now that Morales is on the shelf and Barrera, who continues to fight, is a pale version of the boxer he once was. Still, despite all the recent successes and his elevation in status and respect, Pacquiao is generally considered to be the top pound-for-pound fighter in the

sport, and because of this, Marquez remains zeroed in on his rival. Although not a fighter to underestimate or overlook an opponent, particularly one as fiery and talented as Juan Diaz, those two fights with Pacquiao in which he didn’t receive the W on his ring ledger he felt he deserved, continue to haunt him. Manny Pacquiao, with his defeat of De La Hoya now the stuff of legend, will probably discover that beating the man doesn’t make you the man in of popularity and monetary clout, but he is the current go-to guy. Everyone wants to fight Pacquiao even though it could potentially be hazardous to one’s health. Marquez doesn’t see it that way. Pacquiao doesn’t scare him in the least. After all, he’s proven to be his ring equal, and he believes that he is his better. But until he gets that W over the one fighter who truly is his nemesis and whom he can’t seem to shake from his mind, he will forever be chasing a ghost. When asked whom he would want to fight if it were completely up to him, Marquez doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Manny Pacquiao.”

Note: Marquez would get a third go-round with Pacquiao in 2011, losing by majority decision in a fight many believe he won.

IN DEMAND: MAYWEATHER-PACQUIAO

After dismantling Miguel Cotto in customary, exciting fashion, the buzzing sellout crowd of over sixteen thousand at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas began to chant, “We want Floyd! We want Floyd! We want Floyd!” And it wasn’t simply the delirious Filipino fans that had just witnessed their hero reach yet another plateau in his remarkable career—it was boxing fans in general. Although there are some terrific bouts coming up in the near future, to paraphrase the tagline that was attached to the Clash during their rock-and-roll heyday, Floyd Mayweather versus Manny Pacquiao is the only fight that matters. The fight simply has to happen, but don’t think for even a second that negotiations for a bout between the two best fighters on the planet will be easy. Although if one were to lay blame for what will surely be a long, drawn-out process concerning purse distribution, Mayweather is not alone in estimating his worth in dollars and cents. He just talks about it endlessly. Manny Pacquiao is well aware of his position atop the boxing world, and he knows that it is he, not Mayweather, who is riding a crest of popularity very rarely seen in any sport. Pacquiao’s crossover appeal has reached an apex—a Time magazine cover spot in the Asian edition of the magazine (the five-page article was in all editions), a successful appearance on the Jimmy Kimmel show, endorsement deals, and a pay-per-view event with early indications of an excess of 1.4 million buys. Pacquiao’s boyish charm belies his intuitive business acumen, and whatever naïveté may remain, his promoter, Top Rank’s Bob Arum, is always there with his arms folded across his chest, smoke billowing out of his ears, and dollar signs blinking in his eyes. Mayweather has intimated that he deserves 65 percent of the potential bundle of cash that will be spread out on the negotiating table, and that’s where the talks will begin. It’s all about getting the percentages down to purse parity. But the fight is already so big that it will get done but probably not until May or June—if not even later in 2010.

Mayweather has already tossed a few derisive comments Pacquiao’s way after Saturday’s comprehensive victory, and that in itself should be an indicator that the man who calls himself Money is steeling himself for a verbal assault to hype the eventual showdown. As quoted by Sky Sports, Floyd said of Manny’s latest masterpiece, “He’s a good puncher, but he’s just one-dimensional.” Floyd then went on to deride the so-called one-dimensional Pacquiao’s chances against an all-time-great fighter like himself and, in a far-reaching observation, questioned Pacquiao’s ability to take a punch—despite nary a wobble under the heavy-handed Cotto’s early assault. “Whatever I do to Pacquiao has been done before,” he insists. “He’s been beaten on three occasions. And if I knock him out, I don’t want the world shouting because he’s been knocked out twice before.” It’s a specious assertion, considering that those two knockout losses came as a weight-drained flyweight over ten years ago. His other loss was a twelve-round decision to future Hall of Famer Erik Morales. Pacquiao knocked Morales out in two return bouts. Strangely, it’s not just Mayweather who sees unnecessary importance in an undefeated record. The value of the 0 in the loss column still has validity in the minds of many fight fans. It’s not an antiquated notion but a relatively new phenomenon. Fighters from decades past fought much more often; rematches were commonplace, and a loss meant little if the fighter could put asses in the seats. One of the few recent fighters whose record meant little was the late Arturo Gatti, a fighter whose fans adored and ed whether he won or lost. Ultimately, what all boxing fans should embrace is not the record the fighter brings into the ring but his skill set, desire, and ferocity. The reason Pacquiao has ascended so quickly to the top of the heap is because he brings all three of those things to the dance every time he laces up the gloves. He’s a throwback to boxing’s last golden age—the 1980s—when fighters like Sugar Ray Leonard, Thomas Hearns, Marvin Hagler, Roberto Duran, Alexis Arguello, and Aaron Pryor would sign on the dotted line to fight anyone because they not only desired the money that came with the risk, but also the risk itself was the true test to find out just how good they really were. And each one of those legendary fighters

wanted to be great. Manny is just like them. Floyd’s desire to be great, however, has come into question. His level of opposition, particularly after he left the lightweight division, has often been lacking. His extraordinary skills and untouchable athleticism have served him well, but his ego has slowly deconstructed a once-great fighter into a businessman more often looking for the easiest route to a big pile of cash with the least amount of risk. Once he changed his nickname from Pretty Boy to Money, he seemed to become more concerned with possessions outside the ring than the respect he could earn inside of the squared circle. However, all that withering disdain from his critics would be wiped away instantly if he simply steps up as soon as possible and demands that Pacquiao meet him in the ring to settle their pound-for-pound score once and for all. Pacquiao’s trainer, Freddie Roach, who, as of late, loves to get into the minds of his fighter’s opponents, is already trying to needle Mayweather’s ego. “I don’t think Mayweather really wants the fight,” he said at the Cotto postfight press conference. “We want the fight, but if Floyd wants a 65-35 split, he’s not going to get it.” The verbal jousts will continue for the next several months although the more reticent Pacquiao won’t be slinging any mud. He’s just not comfortable with trash talk. Mayweather, on the other hand, has mastered the craft. But once all the nonsense is pushed aside and the ink has dried on the contract, boxing fans will have an event on their hands that will harken back to the halcyon days of the 1980s—when fights like Leonard-Hearns were the norm rather than the exception. Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao, the two best fighters in the sport—two markedly different personalities with raucous, ionate fan bases—have both fought so brilliantly in their careers to get to this point. This fight is the pinnacle for both of them. It’s not simply what boxing needs; it’s what the fans demand.

Note: As of 2012, Mayweather and Pacquiao had yet to fight each other.

PART II

Seconds Out

A VOTE FOR DONALD CURRY

Every year when I receive my International Boxing Hall of Fame (IBHOF) ballot, there is one name I always hesitate at when I see it. In past years, I’ve bit my lip and then moved on, not putting pen to paper. In my mind, potential inductees into IBHOF should be held to the same high standard that voters for the baseball Hall of Fame hold for those who play on the diamond. But the IBHOF is a completely different beast. The hall resides in the small town of Canastota, New York, and induction weekend, held in June, is a cash windfall for local businesses and the museum. It’s incumbent upon the IBHOF to have living inductees there to hype the event. And what an event it is. Nowhere else can boxing fans literally bump into their favorite fighters—be it on the grounds of the museum, at the memorabilia show at the local high school, or at Graziano’s restaurantright across the street. And fighters, with a few possible exceptions, are the nicest, most compliant athletes on the planet. They genuinely love the attention and the camaraderie of the fans and their fellow combatants. If you haven’t been there, go! One of my favorite memories is meeting both Alexis Arguello and Aaron Pryor, chatting them up, and then watching them embrace and pull away from the crowd to enjoy one another’s company and reflect on their unique friendship—a friendship born from fierce combat in the ring. But the IBHOF can be a source of irritation for many, including voters. There are fighters, not to be belittled, who simply should not be in the hall. Some people can’t believe promoters Don King and Bob Arum are in there, and just about everyone outside of employees of the WBC are appalled that Jose Sulaiman has a plaque on the wall. As a voter, I think there are names on the ballot that probably shouldn’t be there, and there are names that are missing that should. Boxing writer Marty Mulcahey

has ionately championed the International in the hall’s title, pushing for the induction of Asian fighters not generally seen on American television. That advocacy has opened the eyes of many voters, me included, extending our research and really taking the voting process seriously. As for that fighter whose name I stumble over, this year, I put a check mark next to his name. It took several years and a recent look back at nearly twenty-five of his ring appearances, thanks to a career DVD collection (which I did with another personal favorite fighter—Danny “Little Red” Lopez, whom I voted for last year), but I decided to lower the bar, just a bit. Hell, if Barry McGuigan, another personal favorite whom I did not vote for, is in the hall, then his contemporary Donald Curry, who achieved more over the course of his career, should be in there too. There are other fighters in the hall such as Ken Norton and Ingemar Johansson that raise a questioning eyebrow, so it can make voting a drag when you have borderline cases such as Curry or, in a few years, the immensely popular Arturo Gatti, who will probably get in because of sentiment rather than achievement. But Donald Curry was special albeit for a short period of time. In fact, there are many who presumed, back around 1985, that the Lone Star Cobra was the best fighter in the world and a legitimate threat to Marvelous Marvin Hagler. As much of a fan of Curry’s as I was, I never saw it that way. In fact, I thought both Hagler and Thomas Hearns were way too big and powerful for him. But so graceful and technically sound was Curry at welterweight that I did believe he could beat the future Hall of Famer Mike McCallum when they met in 1987 for the WBA junior middleweight title—even after the shocking dressing-down that Lloyd Honeyghan had given him the year before. McCallum knocked him out with one shot in the fifth round of a fast-paced, compelling bout. And Donald was fun to watch, win or lose. He took the undisputed welterweight championship in 1985 with a career-best win against Milton McCrory—and the quick left hook that floored the Iceman in the second round was as beautiful a shot as I’ve ever seen in a championship bout. He also won a belt at junior middleweight. Curry never quite lived up to his potential, but few athletes ever do. His downfall was as dramatic as his ascension, which to me only adds drama to his legacy. He

was truly great for a brief moment in time and then fell apart before an incredulous audience. So this year—ironically a year he can’t possibly get in considering Mike Tyson, Julio Cesar Chavez, and Kostya Tszyu command the ballot—I voted for him. I did so because I think there’s just enough there to warrant his inclusion, and there is some sentiment there on my part as well. Perhaps the requirements for induction into the hall are too lenient. Perhaps I’m giving in to a genuine affection for a fighter whom I truly loved to watch ply his craft. Whatever the reason, Donald Curry should be in IBHOF, and I will continue to vote for him as long as his name remains on the ballot. He is not a first-ballot candidate. He needed to wait a while because he’s one of those borderline cases, but someday the Lone Star Cobra should have his plaque on the wall, and he should have his moment in the sun during the inductionceremony weekend.

Note: As of 2012, Donald Curry has not been elected to the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

SHANE MOSLEY—IT’S BEEN A BUMPY, THRILLING RIDE

When last we saw Shane Mosley, he was capping off a sloppy fight against unorthodox Ricardo Mayorga with a wicked last-ditch assault that saw him knock out the wild-swinging Nicaraguan with a vicious left hook at the onesecond mark of the final round. The eleven rounds that preceded that pictureperfect shot, however, were not vintage Shane Mosley. Mayorga’s awkward style and size (he outweighed Shane by nearly fifteen pounds) completely disrupted Shane’s rhythm and left him struggling to establish any sort of concentrated attack. But just when the fight looked as though it would go to the scorecards, the intensity that boils to a fever pitch within Shane’s fighting heart exploded, and for a brief moment, Mosley became Sugar Shane once again. The result, so unexpected after such a messy affair, led HBO broadcaster Larry Merchant to gush, “I love you, Shane Mosley!” That sentiment was felt by anyone who has followed Shane’s career because, once again, Mosley showed us why he is, and has long been, a special fighter. Although he has fallen short, in of ring accomplishments, of the other two Sugars—Robinson and Leonard —he shares with both of those all-time-great fighters a ruthless killer instinct and a willingness to fight in the trenches, which in turn has made him an utterly compelling fighter to watch. However, on a more complicated note, Mosley has also had to deal with the sting of steroid accusations now proved founded as his testimony during the BALCO hearings in 2003 find him itting to using the doping agent EPO during preparations for his rematch with Oscar De La Hoya. EPO increases the number of oxygen-rich red blood cells, which subsequently boosts physical endurance. In a recent article published by the Daily News, Mosley is quoted, through newly released court transcripts, to itting to being injected with EPO multiple times. During his testimony, Mosley also its to using the steroids known as the cream (testosterone and epitestosterone) and the clear (THG) though he maintains he didn’t know they were steroids (Teri Thompson and Nathaniel Vinton, reporters, December 2, 2008). It speaks to Mosley’s nice-guy persona that he has not suffered the slings and

arrows that others have in light of his transgressions. He seems a much more believable person in regard to his ignorance than, say, Barry Bonds, who testified to the same grand jury in which he allegedly perjured himself. Or he at least seems genuinely regretful. But is ignorance a reasonable excuse when others are injecting or applying foreign substances into your body? Apparently, forgiveness from the media and the fans is all wrapped up in likeability, something Mosley exudes. Still, this stain on his record will always hold some significance, and Shane, though tight-lipped on the subject, appears to be resigned to that fact whenever it is brought up. In a statement released after his testimony, Mosley said, “I know in my heart that I’m a clean guy and a good guy.” He concluded, somewhat ambiguously, by stating, “That one little hiccup should never have happened, and it won’t happen again” (Retrieved from Daily News reporter Tim Smith, September 28, 2007). One wonders if De La Hoya has had words with his rival and now business partner in regard to that oh-so-close decision victory for Mosley in their return bout back in September of 2003. At the time, Oscar, so bitterly disappointed at another loss to his crosstown rival, wanted to launch an investigation into the judge’s decision. Nothing came of it. Any misgivings between the two fighters will surely remain off the record while they remain business partners in Golden Boy Promotions. His failings aside, Mosley is rarely in a dull fight, and his willingness to take on anyone has endeared him to the hardcore boxing fan. He never became a superstar despite two victories over boxing’s biggest attraction, De La Hoya, but he established himself as one of the premier fighters of his time and will one day be inducted into the boxing Hall of Fame unless the whole steroid mess alienates him with a significant number of voters. Don’t bet on that. At thirty-seven years of age, Shane Mosley is now at the tail end of his career although he insists he feels better than ever—an assertion his graybeard brotherin-arms De La Hoya claimed before being thrashed by the so-called undersized Manny Pacquiao this past December. Though the two aging pugilists may often soft-soap the public and the media with the same spiel, they have always gone about their business in the ring differently—at least in recent years. Where Oscar would pick and choose opponents to satisfy his ego and bank , Mosley, to this day, continues to seek out the toughest opponents available. Where Oscar had no interest in fighting either Miguel Cotto or Antonio Margarito, Shane did

everything he could to secure matches against the two most dangerous welterweights in the division. He fought then WBA champion Cotto to a near standstill in November of 2007, dropping a spirited, close unanimous decision to the Puerto Rican in front of a rowdy, appreciative audience at Madison Square Garden. It was a somewhat-unexpected performance. Cotto, the rising star, was looking to further his cause against an aging legend who was becoming slow of foot. Instead, it was Mosley chasing down the younger champion in the final rounds. Although the always-gracious Mosley deferred to Cotto and the judges when the decision was announced, many thought his late-round surge should have secured him the victory. Mosley now says that he believes he won the fight. Nevertheless, the performance once again put Shane right back in the thick of things. After dispatching Ricardo Mayorga in stunning fashion, Mosley scanned the welterweight landscape and saw two gunslingers holding markedly different ammunition. There was Andre Berto, the current WBC 147—pound champion and still a work in progress, and the Tijuana Tornado, WBA champion Antonio Margarito. The difference between the two is akin to a starter’s pistol squaring off against a bazooka. So in keeping with his warrior’s code, Mosley sized both men up; waved away the smaller, less accomplished, less imposing Berto; and targeted the Mexican assassin Margarito. Always determined to be the best in the division in which he plies his craft, Mosley will once again take on the preeminent fighter in his weight class. That desire, actually an absolute willingness, to lay it all on the line is what has truly earned Shane Mosley the Sugar moniker. But it has also gotten him into trouble in the past. He suffered back-to-back losses to Vernon Forrest and Winky Wright in 2002 and 2004 respectively. In both cases, Shane jumped right back into the ring with his nemesis after being soundly beaten in the first go-round. His courage proved to be hubris, and incidentally, both men were physically bigger than him—as is Margarito. Size has proven to be something of an Achilles’s heel for the stout Mosley, but it was ultimately the boxing skills and educated jabs of Forrest and Wright that led to his downfall. Margarito is a different beast entirely, and he fights only in forward gear. He is there to be hit, but with a head seemingly filled with concrete, he is not there to be hurt. It was that imperviousness to pain and his relentless forward aggression that slowly broke Miguel Cotto apart in Margarito’s signature victory

in July of 2008. Logic would dictate that at such an advanced stage of his career, Mosley will wilt at some point under the Tornado’s constant pressure. But Mosley is not Cotto, and one thing he won’t do, which Cotto did, is neglect the body. Shane is a wicked body puncher, particularly with the left hook. It has been established that Margarito can take it on the chin and laugh at the pain, but against Mosley, we will see if his rib cage is encased in cement as well. Whatever the result on January 24 at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, California, one can confidently assume that Shane Mosley will leave everything he has left in the ring. His mental makeup dictates that should he find himself overwhelmed, as Cotto did, against that relentless Margarito pressure, Mosley will grit his teeth, plant his feet, and swing for the fences. That’s why his fans adore him, and it is why he has remained at or near the top of the boxing elite for over ten years. It’s been a bumpy ride at times, and his career has probably not panned out quite the way he would have liked. But Shane Mosley earned every cent of every paycheck he made for his ring performances with a unique blend of skill, style, tenacity, and desire and, in turn, earned the right to call himself Sugar.

SHANE MOSLEY FINALLY GETS HIS SUPERFIGHT

It took nearly sixteen months, but Sugar Shane Mosley finally got the big fight he had been pining for since destroying Antonio Margarito way back in January of 2009. The fact that his bout against Floyd Mayweather on May 1 comes as something of a consolation prize for jaded fight fans in the aftermath of the disintegration of the proposed Mayweather-Pacquiao fight should really be a nonissue. Mayweather-Mosley has all the ingredients to be an utterly compelling fight between two of the biggest names in the sport. On top of that, the winner will probably get Pacquiao later in the year should Manny defeat Joshua Clottey on March 13. Heavy emphasis on the word probably, considering the mess all parties involved made of the MayweatherPacquiao negotiations. For Shane, it’s been a long, inexplicable wait to get someone, anyone, in the ring with him since the Margarito fight. He called out nearly anyone he could think of —even climbing into the ring after Mayweather’s comeback victory over Juan Manuel Marquez in September of 2009. He tried to get nose to nose with Floyd and goad him into a showdown, but at the time, Mayweather was having none of it. But things happen in the world of boxing. The fallout from the MayweatherPacquiao debacle was intense, particularly with fans who came to view both fighters with a mixture of incredulity and contempt. Message boards were filled with irate fans threatening to boycott both Pacquiao’s and Mayweather’s next fights. However, now that Mosley is in the mix, everything feels right again. Shane is practically beside himself with delight now that the fight with Mayweather is a done deal. The wizened old veteran is a throwback fighter. Such is his ion for combat and competition that the interminable layoff he was forced to sit through drove him a bit nuts. His inability to ride the crest of the wave he had conjured up after blitzing Margarito has been as frustrating an

experience he has ever had to deal with in his lengthy career. At thirty-nine, he knows he doesn’t have any more time to waste. “He’s been waiting for this opportunity for so long, and he finally got it,” said Golden Boy Promotions’s Richard Shaeffer. Mosley is so confident that he will beat Mayweather that he consented to the Olympic-style prefight blood testing Floyd and his team had forced on Pacquiao during contract negotiations. Pacquiao, refusing to be dictated, balked and ultimately walked away from an astronomical payday. Instead, the Pac-Man signed to fight the rugged Joshua Clottey in Texas Stadium on March 13. With that fight set, the eyes of the boxing world zeroed in on Mayweather. What would he do? Take on another undersized opponent? Or would he try to one-up Pacquiao? Sadly, the repercussions of the devastating earthquake in Haiti would bring Mayweather and Mosley together. Mosley, the WBA welterweight champion, was signed to fight his WBC counterpart Andre Berto in a unification match in early February. Berto lost several of his extended family in the quake and understandably pulled out of the bout. Once again, Shane was without a dance partner. Mayweather, with no other big-time moneymaking opponent available and the intense glare of a very critical media contingent blinding him, had no choice but to take on Mosley. Still, Mayweather insisted on the same random drug-testing procedure he had forced upon Pacquiao. Mosley has itted in court testimony during the BALCO hearings in 2003 to “unknowingly” using the doping agent EPO during preparations for his rematch with Oscar De La Hoya. EPO increases the number of oxygen-rich blood cells, which subsequently boosts physical endurance. Mosley also itted to using the steroids known as the cream (testosterone and epitestosterone) and the clear (THG). His past indiscretions haven’t hurt his image in the public eye to the degree it has so many other athletes, but by agreeing to these , it seems Mosley is intent on further removing himself from what he calls was “a stupid mistake.”

Paul Upham of Secondsout.com recently wrote that “in g off on the deal, Mosley has given Mayweather complete control over the drug testing to be implemented, apart from any testing that is required by the Nevada State Athletic Commission.” Both fighters will be subjected to the random tests leading up to the fight. Mosley’s immediate acquiescence indicates just how desperate he was for this fight. As far as he’s concerned, Mayweather can have all the concessions he wants as long as he’s there, in the ring, when the opening bell clangs. In Shane’s mind, once Floyd climbs through the ropes, he’s got him. Everything that comes before that opening round is nothing more than Floyd Mayweather nonsense. Give him whatever he wants—just as long as he shows up to the dance. Although Shane seems to have been partaking from the same fountain of youth that Bernard Hopkins apparently bathes in, age and years of wear and tear catch up to us all—even remarkable physical specimens like Mosley. His wasted year cannot have helped him in any way. Rest was not what he needed after such an easy victory over Margarito. He needed to get back in the ring immediately, but it didn’t play out that way. Ring rust might be a concern in the early going, but Shane waves that off. “This is the fight I’ve wanted,” he says, that toothy grin always creasing his face. “I’m going to take it to him. He’s not fighting a guy coming up in weight. I know I’m the best fighter out there. I’m fresh. The layoff? No big deal.” Shane knows that should he lose, that could be it for him on the grand stage. He is so itching to fight and so consumed with beating Floyd Mayweather that he literally rubs his hands together in anticipation whenever Floyd’s name comes up. Look for him to explode out of the corner at the opening bell on May 1. Floyd, for all his speed and athleticism, does not have the power to keep Shane at bay. However, you can’t hit what you can’t find, and Shane, at least this aging version, is not great at cutting off the ring. (Witness the last three rounds of his bout with Miguel Cotto.) He likes his opponents to come to him. He will have to concentrate on the body attack early to slow Floyd down. It should be a race to the finish. Can Shane break Floyd down early and dominate him late? Or will Floyd be able to stay away and turn the bout into a

typical Mayweather affair? Whatever happens, Shane Mosley will be there to fight and to give the fans what they want. Whether he has enough left in the tank to get to Floyd Mayweather is the great intrigue in this fight. If he does, Money Mayweather will have to earn every penny of his paycheck because Sugar Shane will be in his face all night long.

Note: Despite hurting Mayweather badly in the second round, Floyd went on to dominate the fight, winning by unanimous decision.

MOSLEY IGNORES UNDERDOG TAG

So why should anyone who follows prizefighting believe for a second that Shane Mosley has any chance of pulling off the upset against Manny Pacquiao this Saturday night? Mosley contends it’s the very notion so many believe he will be clobbered into retirement by the Filipino icon that he will leave everyone eating crow. He knows upsets are always in the offing, and all it takes is one shot. One shot was all he was able to deliver when he took on Floyd Mayweather in May of 2010. But it was one helluva shot that nearly dropped Mayweather and, for just a brief moment, had every Floyd hater on their feet, rejoicing the demise of boxing’s most polarizing figure. And then the moment slipped away. Mosley couldn’t follow up as Mayweather dipped and rolled his way out of danger. From that moment on, the man nicknamed Sugar became caramelized and slogged through the final ten rounds, unable to catch lightning in a bottle a second time. Mosley would have us believe that it was Mayweather’s defensive-minded approach that led to such a dismal performance. But the fact remains, he looked like an old fighter unable to pull the trigger when openings presented themselves. “Pacquiao will fight,” Mosley says. “He likes to fight, so he won’t run when I catch him. That’s why this will be such an exciting fight.” Mosley’s fighting spirit must never be denied. It’s what has made him such a fan favorite over the many years he has plied his craft. He’s taken on many of the best of his era, even demanding rematches with Vernon Forrest and Winky Wright after one-sided losses—two fighters who would always stylistically present him with nothing but problems. He has earned the right to a few hefty paydays as his career comes to an end. But is he deluding himself when it comes to his chances against the Pac-Man who shows no real signs of slippage?

In Mosley’s defense, the adage that an aging, formerly superior athlete has one last great performance left inside him is one that has been proven time and time again. Erik Morales’s recent performance against overwhelming favorite Marcos Maidana is the most recent example. Morales used every veteran trick he could think of to leave his less-talented, overly aggressive opponent swinging and missing—although it wouldn’t have been a classic Morales bout without some macho posturing and vicious exchanges to ratchet up the tension. Mosley sees a lot of himself in Morales—a warrior spirit coupled with a high boxing IQ. It’s why he insists to all who will listen, just as Morales did before the Maidana fight, that he can not only compete with Pacquiao but also get to him and bust him up. Because of their styles, Shane believes he can produce an effort worthy of the one Erik put up and shock the boxing world. At the opening press conference, an ebullient Mosley looked as though he had a secret that he could finally let everyone in on. “I’m gonna mess up his rhythm,” he said. “Being that he is a very exciting fighter and likes to bring it, that leaves openings for me. It won’t go the distance. This is the type of fight that could never go the distance.” That last rumination is one most agree with although pundits and the odds have Mosley being the one short-circuited and flat on his back. But Shane, that everpresent smile creasing his face, shrugs at the naysayers and insists that May 7 will be much like January of 2009 when, again a prohibitive underdog, he took Antonio Margarito apart before knocking him out in the ninth round. Pacquiao, whose recent training camps have come into question, is not taking Mosley lightly. In fact, there are no rumblings of discontent coming from Team Pacquiao, and a lot of that is probably due to the trainer, Freddie Roach, who knows that Mosley, despite diminishing returns in recent bouts, will always be dangerous, particularly if underestimated. “If Manny Pacquiao is going to attack Shane Mosley, that’s what Shane likes,” he said recently on Showtime’s Fight Camp 360°. “He’s a very good counterpuncher. How we go about attacking him is the key. He’s got a very good chin. Mosley’s a tough guy.” Should Mosley lose badly, his days of fighting for big purses are probably over.

Calls for his retirement will be ringing in his ears, and the one thing that has dominated his adult life, the sport itself, will have led him to a crossroads so many fighters stumble onto and then wander down the wrong path. It would be a shame to see Mosley become a gatekeeper with increasingly slurring speech. But if he acquits himself well or somehow pulls out a win, it will be more padding for a Hall of Fame résumé already overstuffed and could lead to a few more hefty checks. After his contentious divorce, money is apparently an issue in his middle-aged life when he had hoped it wouldn’t be. As training camp has come to a close, Shane Mosley seems relaxed and confident. Only when Manny Pacquiao lashes out with those vicious combinations will Mosley truly know if he has anything left other than his courage. It’s why Freddie Roach is predicting a knockout victory for his charge. Mosley won’t have the ability or even the mind-set to run, so he will plant his feet and look for that one opening, that one moment, when he can turn back the clock and taste sweet victory yet again. But if that opening closes before he can break through, it will be a long, painful night for the man called Sugar.

THOMAS HEARNS—A HALL OF FAME CAREER

There is a moment in every great athlete’s career that can be pointed to and qualified as the apex of his collective achievement. Disagreement amongst fans as to just what that particular moment was is usually born out of an almostfanatical love for the athlete in question. Debate in the world of sports has always been ionate, over-the-top, and endless. On a hot summer night in 1984, WBC super welterweight champion Thomas Hearns squared off against Roberto Duran in what should have been a unification matchup. Duran had been stripped of his WBA crown, which he had taken from Davey Moore in an inspired performance on his thirty-second birthday at Madison Square Garden, for deciding to face Hearns instead of number one challenger Mike McCallum. But money talks, and McCallum, not yet the celebrated fighter he would become, was not in that rarefied league that Hearns and Duran belonged to. A contract with McCallum would have been missing many zeros in the dollar amount. In other words—high risk, low reward. So something of a dream bout ensued—only it ended in nightmarish fashion for Duran, who was coming off a competitive fifteen-round decision loss to middleweight champion Marvelous Marvin Hagler. Hearns was still in the process of rebuilding his career and his image after a heartbreaking fourteenth-round TKO loss to Sugar Ray Leonard three years earlier in their classic welterweight-unification showdown. So disillusioned was Hearns that after moving up to the 154-pound weight class, he dropped his infamous Hitman moniker in favor of his first sobriquet, the Motor City Cobra. In fact, it was a much-different Thomas Hearns who emerged from that defeat than fans were used to. Suddenly, the fearsome bomber reverted to the classic boxer of his amateur days. Back then, in the early to mid-1970s, you could count Tommy’s knockout wins on one hand. But the technique, ring savvy, and in

particular the brilliant, lancing jab would serve Hearns well years later in the professional ranks when his opponent would not fall. In his super welterweight title bout against master boxer Wilfred Benitez in December of 1982, Hearns stopped looking for the knockout early after breaking his brittle right hand. Instead, he engaged in a tactical yet entertaining chess match, using that whiplike jab and smooth footwork to come away with a majority-decision victory—his second belt in as many divisions. Unfortunately, the excitement and menacing aura that surrounded Hearns preLeonard dissipated, and thoughts of him eventually fighting Hagler weren’t taken too seriously—particularly after Hearns had pulled out of a title try against the middleweight champ in 1982 after suffering an injury in training to that fragile right hand. Aware of all this and eager to become boxing’s number one star after Sugar Ray Leonard’s retirement, Tommy not only reverted back to the Hitman nickname but openly predicted he would knock out Duran in two rounds. A prediction interpreted by most as nothing more than prefight hype. The fight itself started tentatively until Hearns began backing the heavily bearded Duran up against the ropes. Tommy mixed his shots up and down, often pulling Roberto’s attention away from the right hand by jabbing to the belly. The ploy worked near the end of the first round when Hearns jabbed downstairs and then came over the top with a right cross, sending the iron-chinned Duran to the canvas. Roberto got to his feet, looking more confused than hurt, and then desperately tried to keep a maniacal Hitman off him for the remaining seconds of the stanza. His red-gloved fists a blur, Hearns sent Duran to the canvas yet again with a left hook to the rib cage that practically lifted the Panamanian off the floor. At the bell, Hearns, perhaps a bit shocked himself, extended his left hand to Duran, and the two touched gloves before Roberto stumbled off to the wrong corner. At the bell for the second round, Duran landed a right to the body that knocked Hearns a little off-balance and then connected with a quick, flush right hand to the jaw that only made Hearns smile. The oversized white gum shield that Hearns wore, along with his Jheri-curled hair, gave him a creepy, menacing appearance. As he glided across the ring on

his spindly legs, his lips pulled back in a mixture of glee and malevolence, he looked nothing short of a black vampire in gold trunks, stalking his prey. The final sequence that ended the fight remains one of the most startling knockouts in boxing history. Again backing Duran up against the ropes, the Hitman jabbed softly twice to the belly, and then, with Duran’s head straight up, he came over the top with a crushing right hand to the jaw that sent Roberto crashing down face-first with a sickening thud. There would be no count. Duran’s cornermen rushed into the ring, pulling the semiconscious fighter to his feet and then dumping him onto his stool. In a career filled with so many exciting moments, it remains Tommy’s signature victory—a highlight reel knockout that still provides chills.

Hearns would then go on to knock out top contender Fred Hutchings in front of an appreciative hometown Detroit audience before finally colliding with Marvin Hagler for the middleweight crown. That night, April 15, 1985, both men attacked one another with a ferocity not seen in the middleweight division since the days of Tony Zale and Rocky Graziano. Hearns would be taken out on his shield after three brutal rounds, but as in his loss to Sugar Ray Leonard, he had once again solidified his fan-friendly warrior persona. As HBO announcer Jim Lampley later commented, “Hearns’s career proved that great fights can establish a fighter’s greatness, whether the record shows he won or lost.” But it was that night of June 15, 1984, against Duran when Hearns truly began to solidify his greatness. Amazing performances had come before, and there would be more to come, but Tommy’s destruction of Roberto Duran marked his peak, a moment of perfection in a remarkably long and prolific career. This year, after his final bout against nondescript Shannon Landberg in 2006, Thomas Hearns finally became eligible for induction into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. Somehow it seems appropriate that he will be the last of the so-called Fabulous Four—Hagler, Leonard, and Duran rounding out that

foursome—to be inducted for he always seemed to be struggling to get out of the shadow of the other three. Duran was the all-time-great lightweight who, despite losing several bouts in the latter half of his career when he jumped up in weight, remained a beloved, roughish character and fistic icon. Hagler is universally recognized as one of the greatest middleweights in history and remains a noted inspiration to hard-nosed blue-collar fighters everywhere. His yearly appearance at the International Boxing Hall of Fame inductionceremony weekend in June and his autograph are perhaps the most coveted of all the fighters who attend. Leonard—the most popular and, arguably, the best boxer of his era—has been able to maintain his celebrity status in the years after his retirement. Sugar Ray was one of those very few athletes who transcended his sport and whose persona still holds cache in nearly every avenue he treads. And then there is Thomas Hearns—so often cited for losing the two biggest fights of his career—his first go-round with Leonard and the unforgettable slugfest with Hagler—instead of his sixty-one victories. Tommy has often found his reputation in an odd sort of fistic limbo. But losses coupled with exhilarating wins, such as the knockout of Duran, were what made the Hitman the most exciting fighter of the 1980s. In his prime, were he part of a pay-per-view event, fans never felt unease in plunking down their hard-earned cash because Thomas always put on a show. His nemesis, Ray Leonard, who defeated and drew with him, now often opines, “Tommy probably could’ve been even greater than he was, but he had that kamikaze mentality. He’d rather go to war, even if he didn’t have to.” Leonard’s longtime trainer, Angelo Dundee, echoed that very sentiment when he said to the late writer George Kimball, “Give Tommy Ray’s balance and he probably beats them all.” And yet sometimes, it’s the flaws in an individual’s makeup that makes him truly compelling. Hearns, despite all his physical advantages, loved to mix it up and lived to please his fans. In a revealing interview with ABC Sports before he defeated Dennis Andries in 1987 for the WBC light heavyweight title, he talked

about his loss to Hagler two years earlier. “I noticed,” he began slowly and somewhat sadly, “how people were disappointed in me. But little did they know… I was trying. I was trying to come through for them.” For them. That sentiment only adds to his greatness because it is so damn unselfish. Of course, Tommy wanted to win for himself, and he wanted to make history by strapping on multiple championship belts in multiple divisions, but it all would have been a hollow victory had he done so in boring fashion. The cheers of the crowd were nearly as important to him as winning. That may also explain his remarkable sportsmanship after he lost because he knew the dramatic nature of those losses provided scintillating entertainment for the fans. Tommy always embraced his conqueror—be it Leonard, Hagler, or Iran Barkley—acknowledged their effort, and would then smile and wave to the crowd. No excuses, no complaining—just a stoic, dignified man who knew he had given it everything he had. And what more can we ask of an athlete who makes the big bucks? It’s fighters like Thomas Hearns that boxing fans now often lament when they wonder why the sport has lost some of its luster—at least in regard to the mainstream public. His thunderous right cross, that jab that he could turn over into a left hook in the blink of an eye, and that kamikaze mentality made any Hitman bout a must-see event. You always knew something exciting and dramatic was going to happen when he stepped through the ring ropes. You knew it because he was special, a once-in-a-lifetime fighter. Yes, he fought on too long, and his current situation—having to auction off many of his ring possessions to pay the tax man—is all too familiar. But that sad cliché aside, he has finally found himself to be a beloved figure in the boxing world. More so than when he was an active fighter because the rabid boxing fan —whether they were a Leonard, Hagler, or Duran devotee to begin with back in those glory days of the 1980s—now recognize just how important Thomas Hearns was in that mix.

He was the one who brought both fire and ice to the ring. He could be wickedly brutal or coldly efficient. He won, he lost, and he never failed to entertain. And now, after all these years, he will finally have his name up on the Hall of Fame wall where he belongs. It took a lot of pain and sacrifice, but Thomas Hearns wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

HATTON VERSUS MALIGNAGGI—DOES THE HITMAN HAVE ANY AMMUNITION LEFT?

After losing in his bid to claim the WBC welterweight title from Floyd Mayweather in 2007, Ricky Hatton finally came to the reasonable conclusion that he was not and never will be comfortable at 147 pounds. A year earlier in Boston, he took on tough WBA welterweight titleholder Luis Collazo. Hatton came away with a razor-thin victory, but many of the New Yorkers who had traveled to the TD Banknorth Garden to cheer on their Brooklyn-born favorite voiced their displeasure with the verdict. From my vantage point that evening, Ricky was lucky to get back to Manchester with the belt, and his smaller-than-expected contingent in Boston was equally relieved. It seemed apparent at that moment, and then certified against Mayweather, that Ricky is a junior welterweight—end of story. But in his return bout at 140 pounds against Juan Lazcano, in front of fifty-seven thousand adoring fans at the City of Manchester Stadium, Hatton again left his irers wondering if a beer-soaked lifestyle that inevitably packs on unsightly pounds between bouts and his aggressive, come-forward fighting style had suddenly sapped him of his prime. For the Lazcano fight, the genial Hatton even entered the ring in a fat suit, poking fun at the portly image he projects when not in training. Unfortunately, there was nothing funny going on in the ring that night against Lazcano—the Hispanic Causing Panic. No matter what Hatton tossed at him, Lazcano walked right through it, not intimidated by Ricky’s notorious roughhouse tactics. Hatton would win comfortably on points, but there was no comfort afforded him by his opponent inside the ring. In the third round, Hatton slipped to the canvas after absorbing a jab, but the referee ruled no knockdown. Moments later, Hatton was rocked by a left hook, and his face began to sprout ugly red welts. Lazcano’s left hook kept the bout a bit too close for comfort for all the fans chanting, “There’s only one Ricky Hatton!” The crowd favorite responded with a

vicious body attack that swung the momentum back in his favor, but in the eighth round, signs of slippage became glaringly evident. Another left hook to the chin had Hatton in desperate trouble. Again he survived, but he was almost out on his feet in the tenth round from another barrage that could have ended his homecoming in disaster had the referee not intervened, leading a woozy Hatton to his corner for his team to tie up his shoelace. Ricky would ultimately survive, thanks to the respite, but his battered visage left many wondering if the fighter was sputtering out. In the bout’s aftermath, many observers wondered aloud if Hatton’s days as an elite fighter were numbered. Colin Hart of The Sun newspaper opined, “Watching Hatton beat Lazcano left me in no doubt Ricky is rapidly sliding down a slippery slope that could lead to a nasty crash.” Hatton would later maintain that he was suffering the effects of a chest infection and that because of that, his training camp was lacking. Then the trainer Billy Graham concurred with that but also voiced his wish that Hatton hang up the gloves because he has witnessed diminishing returns in each successive bout. Whatever concerns his trainer had in regard to his fighter are now moot; Graham bowed out after the Lazcano fight. Fighting on the undercard that night was IBF light welterweight titleholder Paulie Malignaggi. His rematch with Lovemore N’dou was memorable only for the ludicrous hair extensions the Brooklyn-based boxer wore into the ring. When the headdress came unhinged, Paulie may well have become the first fighter in history to lose rounds because his hair was in his eyes. After being shorn of his faux dreadlocks between stanzas, Malignaggi managed to salvage a split-decision victory and a November 22 date with Hatton at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas despite breaking his oft-broken right hand in the sixth round. Paulie was spoken with a short time later at the boxing Hall of Fame in New York, and the fighter was sheepish about what had happened against N’dou. Sporting a buzz cut and a cast on his right fist, Malignaggi was still his old defiant self, albeit with a more playful attitude in light of the lunacy he put himself through in Manchester. “I respect Hatton,” he itted. “But as a boxer, I’m so much better.”

He then went on to point to his gutsy losing effort against then—WBO light welterweight champion Miguel Cotto. Despite the loss and the broken bones and cuts that went along with it, Paulie never quit and won over a lot of critics with his courage. “I took everything Cotto had, and I didn’t quit,” he said. “I learned a lot from that fight. It was a tough thing to take at the time, but I proved myself to a lot of people, and I’m better now than I was then.” As for his oft-injured hand, Malignaggi insisted then as he does now that it will not be an issue. Still, Paulie’s right fist seems to be made of papier-mâché and could easily crack the second it meets Hatton’s hard head. The odds will certainly be in Hatton’s favor come the opening bell, and his countrymen who will once again make the long trek to Vegas to cheer on their idol will place him in the comfortable position of fan favorite of which he’s grown accustomed. However, his penchant for packing on the pounds was evident yet again in a recent photo published in the December issue of Ring Magazine—couple that ongoing distraction with the dismissal of his longtime trainer and confidant, Billy Graham, and one wonders if Hatton’s career is breaking apart from the inside out or the outside in. Is his body breaking down faster than his will, or are outside forces exhausting a now-aging veteran? There were rumblings after the loss to Mayweather that fighter and trainer, together since the very beginning, were on the outs. The two men defused those rumors and worked together for the Lazcano fight, but now the longtime pair will not be doing what they’ve done together for forty-five professional bouts. How will Ricky react to going back to his corner if Malignaggi manages to befuddle him and that familiar face isn’t there? At this stage of his career, will it even matter at all? In Graham’s place is another loquacious trainer, none other than Floyd Mayweather Sr. The two men would appear to be an odd match—the gregarious, good-time charlie and straight-ahead banger that is Hatton and the egocentric, motormouthed defensive specialist that is Mayweather. Even Hatton recently itted that he is too old to learn any new tricks but maintained that he is professional enough to take a great trainer’s advice and, hopefully, tighten up

what has become a porous defense. Still, the two are an odd mesh personality-wise. All the questions about this pairing will be answered come fight night. Hatton also has the distinct comfort of knowing that Malignaggi is not a heavy puncher. With only five knockouts in twenty-six professional bouts, Paulie relies on his legs and on creating angles to frustrate his opponents than in keeping them honest with right-hand bombs. And then there is that fragile paw to consider. The last time that lack of power proved to be his downfall was against the onrushing Cotto, and Hatton, determined in training camp to center his attack on the body, should get to Malignaggi by the midrounds. Paulie’s jab, cocky selfassurance, and underrated mental toughness will keep him in the fight, but those assets won’t keep Hatton off him. And if you can’t hurt Ricky, you can’t dissuade him. Despite Paulie Malignaggi’s skills, he is probably not the opponent to truly gauge where Hatton is on that “slippery slope” Colin Hart referred to. Look for Malignaggi to present some problems early on before Hatton’s body work and mauling tactics begin to take their toll, breaking him up and possibly sending him to the mat before Ricky comes away with a unanimous-decision victory. From there he will sit ringside on December 6 at the Oscar De La Hoya—Manny Pacquiao fight in anticipation of one final big payday against one of those cash cows.

Note: Hatton stopped Malignaggi in the eleventh round.

THOMAS HEARNS—AN ALL TOO FAMILIAR STORY

In his book Four Kings, author George Kimball concludes his tale of Sugar Ray Leonard, Marvelous Marvin Hagler, Thomas Hearns, and Roberto Duran with a “Where are they now?” summary. Leonard and Hagler were both moneyconscious fighters from the very beginning and invested wisely—surrounding themselves with proper business managers and lawyers. Hagler was also notoriously frugal; no hangers-on ever carried Marvin’s gym bag. Hearns and Duran were different stories. Duran fought into his fifties mainly because he spent nearly every dime he ever accumulated. His constant partying kept accelerating, particularly after his first fight with Leonard in 1980. After that, the Panamanian government would hail him as a hero after every win and as a pariah after every loss, and when he lost, great chunks of his purse were often confiscated. But as long as he could get back in the ring, the paychecks would keep coming. Only an auto accident in 2001 finally precluded him from ever swapping leather again. With the entourages long gone and his Hall of Fame status now set in stone, Duran appears to be living a more modest but satisfying lifestyle. Thomas Hearns seemed to have managed his money properly. He’s always decked out in designer suits with the requisite bling—the Hitman does cut a sharp image at ringside for big fights. He dabbled in boxing promotion in Detroit, culminating in Mike Tyson’s abbreviated fight with Andrew Golota, who literally ran out of the ring in terror. Tyson’s win by disqualification would be ruled a no contest after Mike tested positive for marijuana. After that, Hearns was tired of all the headaches associated with promotion. It was so much easier and fulfilling to be just a fighter. Although he says he’s going to give promotion another go. Things looked to be all right for one of this era’s most beloved pugilists. But all that came crashing down this month in sadly familiar circumstances. In Kimball’s book, Tommy’s former trainer and father figure, Emanuel Steward,

said, “I never got involved in Tommy Hearns’s money. He had other people helping him invest it. But you can see that he’s very comfortably fixed. He has a beautiful big house on about ten acres, and he buys a new Bentley every year.” But Hearns, like many fighters who come from impoverished backgrounds, began spending money on extravagant baubles once the money started coming in. To have things he once felt deprived of made him happy, and accordingly, he spread the wealth around. Hearns always surrounded himself with an enormous group of lackeys he assumed were friends. Steward once said that his fighter had the biggest entourage of any fighter in the history of boxing. With big paychecks coming in once superfights with Leonard, Duran, and Hagler graced the boxing landscape, Tommy spent and spent and spent. Now at the age of fifty-one, the fighter who made approximately forty-five million dollars in his career is broke. He owes nearly half a million dollars on house payments (he has residences in Detroit, Nevada, and Phoenix), and he owes nearly another half a million dollars in back taxes. Almost twenty-five years to the day of his legendary battle for the middleweight championship against Hagler, Hearns sat, rather sadly, at an auction to help with his financial woes, g autographs at fifty dollars apiece. Always gracious, even at the most down of times, the former fighter watched as his possessions— ranging from his boats, off-road vehicles, and most depressing of all the robes he wore into the ring for his most famous battles—were distributed to collectors after the hammer of the auctioneer’s gavel. Perhaps even more worrisome than this sad turn of events is Hearns’s proposed intention to fight again. Tommy has never been comfortable in retirement. A certain first-ballot Hall of Famer, he will be eligible for induction in 2011 if he doesn’t enter the ring again. He sits ringside for his son Ronald’s fights and still trains diligently. It’s all he knows, and like many fighters, the gym and the ring seem to be the only places he truly feels comfortable and at ease with himself. But fighting again for money would turn this sorry story into a tragic one. For a fighter who gave everything of himself to be reduced to a sideshow is a longstanding heartbreak in the boxing world. It happens endlessly—from the very upper echelon of talent such as Thomas Hearns to the broken-down pug on the

club circuit. It’s a vicious, cruel cycle that can ensnare any boxer. In a revealing anecdote in Kimball’s book, Hearns and Steward ran into Hagler in London nearly twenty years after they had waged war on one another. “I still want to fight,” Tommy said. “Man, are you crazy?” Hagler replied. “You ought to think about doing something else. You need to get on with your life.” For Thomas Hearns, apparently there just isn’t anything else, and that might be the saddest thing of all.

COUNTDOWN TO HATTON-PACQUIAO

When Manny Pacquiao forced Oscar De La Hoya to retire on his stool after eight ridiculously one-sided rounds, the vast majority of people who had picked against the Pac-Man that night sat up, blinked, and began comparing the Filipino whirlwind to all-time greats like Henry Armstrong. So definitive was his destruction of the Golden Boy that even those irers outside of the rabid fan base of his countrymen wondered if anyone could beat the guy. With Floyd Mayweather still perched upon his fence and Manny indicating that it will only be big-money bouts from here on out, a suitable dance partner was needed for 2009’s first superfight. A rubber match with intense rival Juan Manuel Marquez was not forthcoming since Manny had left the lightweight division behind, so only one name seemed to make sense, at least in of marketability—Ricky Hatton. The problem with Hatton was, even as this matchup was in the negotiating stage, the Hitman was viewed by some as possibly on the downside of his career trajectory while Pacquiao was peaking. But time can either diminish or enhance the past, and it seems that in regard to Manny’s victory over Oscar, a consensus has been established that, yes, Pacquiao was that good but also De La Hoya was that bad. This estimation has leveled the playing field somewhat, and now Pacquiao doesn’t seem to be quite the monster he was on December 6. In fact, because he jumped from lightweight to welterweight, junior welterweight champion Hatton is still the naturally bigger man, and when the two fighters meet up on May 2, Pacquiao will be competing in a brand-new division—a division in which Hatton is undefeated. Pacquiao’s rise to the coveted spot atop boxing’s pound-for-pound list took a great deal of work and a mighty overhaul by his trainer Freddie Roach, but somehow it feels as though his ascent to superstar status happened very quickly. His breakout fight against Jorge Eliecer Julio on the undercard of the Lennox Lewis—Mike Tyson fight in 2002 heralded a new, exciting fighter to keep tabs on, but then this fresh-faced kid with the easy smile was stepping into the ring with the elite and beating them.

When a flaw was discovered and exploited as in his first fight with Erik Morales, it was subsequently diagnosed and eradicated. Pacquiao, still left-hook happy, faced a totally focused Morales in his last great performance and lost a unanimous decision. In the rematch, Roach tightened up his defense and mixed up his charge’s attack, focusing on right hands to the body that eventually broke Morales apart, dropping him to his knees in the tenth round for the first stoppage loss of his brilliant career. After that signature win, Pacquiao just kept getting better—and bigger, outgrowing one-weight class after another, all the while adding more hardware to his ever-growing trophy case. Hatton’s arrival on the scene reached its apex in 2005 at the MEN Arena in Manchester in front of an adoring hometown crowd when he stopped longtime reigning 140-pound champion Kostya Tszyu in the eleventh round. Ricky’s mauling, brawling style would not go over quite so well in the United States as it did in England, but his quirky personality made up for any limitations he showed as a fighter in crossing him over into stardom. His Guinness-soaked charm made him a natural at press conferences, interview sessions, and ultimately on HBO’s 24/7 documentary series as he prepared for his big opportunity against the then pound-for-pound king and welterweight champion, Floyd Mayweather. Hatton’s conclusive knockout loss to Mayweather in the tenth round at first seemed to have taken a bit of the fire out of his belly. His subsequent performance against Juan Lazcano was shaky at best. (Hatton insists he was ill at the time.) Whispers of “damaged goods” were eventually followed by the breakup with longtime trainer and confidant, Billy Graham. Was this yet another example of a fighter laying all the blame at his trainer’s feet after a devastating loss? Or did Hatton finally realize that as good a pair the two were for all those years, in order to compete at a higher level of competition, something more was needed? The split wasn’t quite amicable, but under the tutelage of a new trainer, Floyd Mayweather Sr., Hatton appears to have rebounded. His win over the slick but feather-fisted Paulie Malignaggi can be viewed as very impressive if only for the glaring fact that in no way did Hatton respect Malignaggi’s power or lack thereof. He could fight as recklessly as he wanted to because Paulie had nothing

to throw at him to keep him at bay. Still, Hatton showed a very good jab and a few new defensive wrinkles that he will definitely need against the even-faster and power-punching Pacquiao. As the fight draws closer, many who once predicted an easy Pacquiao victory are now hedging their bets—at least slightly. As easy as it is to envision the version of Manny Pacquiao who clobbered De La Hoya and previously WBC lightweight champion David Diaz into submission to deal the onrushing Ricky Hatton a similar beat-down, it is also realistic to assume that Hatton’s roughhouse tactics and bullish strength could disrupt Pacquiao and take him completely out of his game. And then there is the possibility of a cut, something even trainer Freddie Roach has itted that Pacquiao does not handle particularly well. With Hatton’s style, an errant elbow or forearm, or clean punch for that matter, could alter the fight dramatically should he draw blood. All in all, this matchup should produce plenty of thrills for however long it lasts. And it says here it won’t last very long. A Pacquiao victory will probably be just enough to induce Floyd Mayweather back into the ring for a megashowdown at the end of 2009. However, it’s probably safe to assume that Pretty Boy Floyd has little interest in facing Hatton again, but then, money talks, and as long as he’s getting paid and paid well, Mayweather just might agree to a rematch should Hatton pull off the upset. And with his estranged father in the opposing corner, the prefight buildup would be hilarious, endless, and—depending on just how much Mayweather you can stomach—mind-bendingly absurd. Until then, the intrigue behind Hatton-Pacquiao on May 2 at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas will keep boxing fans more than satisfied. Hopefully, the fight itself will exceed the growing expectations as we await the opening bell. But intrigue is one thing; the blazing fists of Manny Pacquiao are something else altogether.

PACQUIAO CRUSHES HATTON IN TWO

Even those of us who anticipated an eventual beat-down of Ricky Hatton by Manny Pacquiao never truly anticipated a complete blowout of the junior welterweight champion. Once again the Pac-Man not only proved his greatness as a fighter but also elevated his stature among the all-time-great fighters. We are now witnessing something very special. Right from the outset, those who thought Ricky Hatton might have some advantage in overall strength were dissuaded of such a notion when Pacquiao had no problem establishing his strength over the natural 140-pound fighter. But it was the speed that Hatton truly couldn’t deal with. It’s what makes Pacquiao’s power punches so crippling. His opponents just don’t see the punches coming. I mentioned in a prefight article that “we should know how this fight will go early on when Manny lands his Sunday punch and Hatton reacts with either a shrug or a shudder.” We had our answer very early on when Hatton hit the deck from an overhand right and then fell again right before the bell. Hatton simply couldn’t handle that insane speed that actually seems blinding in slow motion. It is literally demonic. After that first knockdown, that was basically all she wrote. But Pacquiao isn’t just a great fighter; he’s a great finisher. God help his prey when it finds itself wounded. Without hesitation or thought, Pacquiao’s killer instinct takes over, and the quiet gentleman who can charm the socks off even the most jaded of sportswriters becomes a frightening presence. One quick, perfectly timed straight left that landed right on Hatton’s chin in the second round ended matters in a very scary manner. Hatton hit the deck as if he’d been shot, and boxing fans, no matter who they were cheering for, prayed

that the lovable Mancunian was all right. It looked bad for a while, but Ricky eventually walked out of the ring of his own volition. He seemed okay as he trudged back to his dressing room, but immediately after dressing, he was heading off to the hospital for precautionary observations. There should be no doubt anymore, if there ever was any, that Manny Pacquiao is something very special. He is a fighter to be cherished by not only the boxing community but by the sports world in general. Athletes like Manny Pacquiao only come around once in a very great while. We are witnessing greatness in Manny Pacquiao. He is something very, very special. The come-backing Floyd Mayweather Jr. has been put on notice. This is what the term pound for pound really means—laying it all out on the line with a combination of skill and ferocity. At thirty years of age, Manny Pacquiao is the complete package, a great fighter who is great fun to watch. Boxing simply does not get any better than this.

BOB ARUM AND FREDDIE ROACH ATTEMPT TO REFOCUS MANNY PACQUIAO

Bob Arum recently flew to the Philippines to help Manny Pacquiao celebrate his twenty-ninth birthday in General Santos City. Arum, who promotes Pacquiao, has a much-wider agenda than simply toasting the most prized possession in the Top Rank stable during the Pac-Man’s celebration. His concerns run from not only Manny’s future opponent, Juan Manuel Marquez, whom he will face at the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas on March 15, but also with the fighter’s lack of visibility during promotional campaigns for his bouts in the United States. “One of the reasons why I came is I am going to sit down with Manny and have a heart-to-heart,” he told the BusinessMirror. “From the standpoint of the promotion, what is happening is, we do very well with his fights. We are in the same general area, which is good. You make money, but it is not growing like it should.” Arum is alluding to Pacquiao’s penchant, as of late, for foregoing trainer Freddie Roach’s gym in Los Angeles and conducting the bulk of his training camp in the Philippines. Although the soft-spoken Roach is forever protective of his fighters, he is not above venting some frustration when his charges either break camp early or, in Pacquiao’s case, leave the trainer at a complete loss as to when and where he will even open training camp. As his star has risen, so too has Manny’s near-complete embrace of the good life. But he has also become a naive target for opportunists who continuously surround him in his native land. He has become all things to all the people of the Philippines, and he has happily engaged in nearly every genre that his popularity has afforded him—from commercials to music to movies, all the way to running for public office, which he lost. Pacquiao has also become near legendary for imbibing in alcohol to nearly Ricky Hatton or Erik Morales proportions between fights. But until now, none of his outside activities have affected his in-ring performances. Or has it? Pacquiao didn’t look at all like the whirling dervish who beat rival Morales to the canvas in the third round of their rubber match in his most recent bout

against Marco Antonio Barrera. Certainly an argument can be made that Barrera was in survival mode in that fight, but at the postfight press conference, Manny seemed distracted, not his jovial self. In fact, he seemed weary. In the months that followed, he didn’t even seem all that interested in whom he would fight next. The public demanded a rematch with Juan Manuel Marquez, but Pacquiao had to be reeled in by Bob Arum during the Thanksgiving holiday to finally announce just whom he would fight. Roach, who is also in the Philippines, maintains that Manny’s performance against Barrera had more to do with how they approached the bout. “Manny boxed well and showed good footwork, which was what we worked on during training,” he told Ring Magazine. “Manny was fighting a smarter fight. Speed and power is not enough to stay in the game long enough. He’s bringing more to the table than being ferocious.” Roach makes a very good point. Fighters with Pacquiao’s relentless style often tend to burn out quickly. However, despite all that Roach wants Pacquiao to learn and incorporate into his fistic style, it’s getting a little late in the game to severely alter what got you there in the first place. The trainer’s main concern really seems to be Pacquiao losing focus, particularly as he readies himself to go up against the formidable Marquez who fought him tooth and nail for twelve spellbinding rounds back in 2004, which resulted in a stalemate. Arum feels the same way, and after Pacquiao’s birthday bash winds down, he plans to sit the fighter down and warn him not to take Marquez lightly. He’s also going to try and get the fighter to play ball with his promotional responsibilities. “When I signed on as his promoter, my idea was to increase his audience—to cross him over,” he said. “I can’t cross him over if I only have one week to do it. That’s ridiculous.” As for Pacquiao’s trainer, Roach agrees with Arum in regard to Manny’s unwillingness to help with promotional activities in the United States. “What am I going to do?” he asks incredulously. “I can’t go on television and continuously talk about him. People don’t want to hear that. They want to hear him.” Meanwhile, Pacquiao will party the night away before he sits down with Arum

and Roach and readies himself for the task ahead that could very well be the toughest obstacle in front of him since his first bout with Erik Morales back in 2005 when El Terrible beat him. Juan Manuel Marquez already proved that he could climb up off the deck and fight evenly with the Filipino icon, and he has been champing at the bit to get Pacquiao back in the ring ever since. He has his chance now and is brimming with confidence. Pacquiao, whose life in the Philippines is as hectic and suffocating as that of Elvis or the Beatles at their respective height, will have to put his trust in his promoter and trainer and return to Los Angeles to focus on only one thing—Juan Manuel Marquez. He can’t do it at home—he’s all things to all people in the Philippines, and that’s too much for even a national icon to handle.

Note: Pacquiao went on to beat Marquez by a close split decision.

THE ONGOING HEAVYWEIGHT MESS

When I sat down this past Friday night to watch a come-backing Samuel Peter take on rising contender Eddie Chambers, I didn’t know quite what to expect. After Peter’s terrible showing against Vitali Klitschko in which he retired on his stool after eight pathetic rounds, I was hoping the Nigerian Nightmare would buckle down and try to regroup. But reports of a dismal training camp proved true, and Peter weighed in at a career high of 265 pounds. So much for trying to get back to where you once belonged. Peter’s lack of focus and, in my estimation, lack of respect for the sport and its fans have become academic in the heavyweight division. Even Chambers, in what should have been enough to get him completely on target—a headlining gig on ESPN against a name opponent—came in overweight. He won a majority decision, but I found nothing of value in the performance, and it left me wondering if following any of these heavyweights is worth my while. There are so many wonderful fighters plying their trade in the lower-weight divisions to enjoy, and some of them are on the cusp of being all-time-great boxers. Actually, some of them may already be there. Manny Pacquiao, Juan Manuel Marquez, and certainly the aging but seemingly ageless Bernard Hopkins will walk into the Hall of Fame with no apologies. Other fighters such as Israel Vazquez, Rafael Marquez, Miguel Cotto, Paul Williams, Ricky Hatton, Vic Darchinyan, and the diminutive but supremely gifted Ivan Calderon reflect a professionalism that have led them to the inner circle of fan favorites. And there’s more—Kelly Pavlik, Arthur Abraham, Andre Berto, Edwin Valero, and Tomaz Adamek provide endless thrills, but somehow, for some reason, the heavyweight division and its lack of coherence continue to frustrate fans and media alike to the point of diminishing all that the aforementioned fighters have accomplished. The shadow of the heavyweight division still looms large over the sport in general no matter how inept it is. With no heavyweight figurehead, boxing has suffered, and so many great fights and fighters in the lighter-weight

divisions have flown under the radar of many former boxing fans who believe that boxing is on its deathbed. This current crop of heavyweights has a lot to answer for. Perhaps a ban, or at least a boycott, of the heavyweight division would change that general perception, and a fight like the thrilling Tomaz Adamek—Steve Cunningham cruiserweight championship would have received more notice. Or maybe not. Many hardcore boxing fans I’ve spoken with, to a man, say they don’t care about mainstream-media coverage for their sport. The operative word being their. They’ve come to accept that boxing has lost much of its appeal to casual sports fans, so they wave it all off and embrace the sport more tightly because they feel it belongs to a select but vocal and dedicated contingent now. It belongs to them. To hell with what anyone else thinks. But it’s hard not to lament the glory days of the 1980s and early ’90s when fighters like Sugar Ray Leonard, Thomas Hearns, Marvelous Marvin Hagler, Roberto Duran, Mike Tyson, and Evander Holyfield commanded newspaper and television coverage. Also, excessive pay-per-views in a withering economy have further alienated many people—although, as of late, that egregious moneymarketing scheme has been reduced to only true events such as the Manny Pacquiao—Ricky Hatton junior welterweight tussle in May. But mainstream-media attention in your area newspapers really doesn’t mean all that much anymore anyway when one considers all the papers that are folding. Print media is, sadly, becoming a dying industry. With the Internet providing daily updates, many of the sports magazines, for example, are dated the second they hit the newsstand. Countless boxing magazines have folded because the news they provided was over a month old. Only The Ring Magazine has kept current by dedicating many sections to retrospectives, up-and-comer profiles, book reviews, wonderful photography, and continuing to allow longtime and respected columnists like Jeff Ryan and Ivan Goldman to vent their spleens. A few months ago, I wrote a column about attending a mixed martial arts payper-view event at a local bar. The question I had for the sell-out crowd was—do you follow boxing? The vast majority of people I spoke with all had a variation on the same theme: “I don’t know who the fighters or the champions are,” “Boxing died when Tyson fell apart,” “Who the hell is the heavyweight champion? Isn’t there like six of them?”

The most recent question someone asked me, and all I could do was sigh and nod, was “Aren’t two of the heavyweight champions brothers? And they won’t fight each other! Give me a break!” Give me a break indeed. Whatever you think of Wladimir and Vitali Klitschko, one thing is undeniable (unless you’re their mother)—the two of them sitting atop the heavyweight rubble and smiling lovingly at each other is as big a problem this division faces as the ineptitude of a gelatinous Samuel Peter. On top of that, one of the Brothers Grimm fights tentatively and often tediously, albeit behind sound technical skills, while the other attempts to engage behind an awkward, aesthetically displeasing style. Vitali’s recent victory over Juan Carlos Gomez on ESPN was not highlight-reel stuff. He may have a heavy right hand and he may fight with a worthy heart, but his fights often resemble schoolyardbully sessions. Wladimir still fights in that straight-up European style, but at least he’s athletic and, when matched easily, can produce something pleasing to watch. Present him with a bit of difficulty, however, and his eyes get wide and he becomes skittish—all six feet six inches and 250 pounds of him. To realize that these two behemoths are the best that the division has to offer is enough to explain why no one seems to really care about who wears the crown of what was once the most coveted prize in all sports. And then there was Peter. Samuel Peter and his gut! What happened to this guy? How can a fighter become so complacent so quickly? Oh, wait, I forgot about David Tua earlier this decade. And then there were all those heavyweights in the early eighties encapsulated by the aptly named Tony Tubbs. So this has happened before. The American heavyweight being touted as possibly the next big thing, Chris Arreola, just keeps getting bigger and bigger with each taco and beer he ingests, and he its he hates doing roadwork and often just refuses to run when training for a bout. And he’s not even considered a top-ten heavyweight yet, but Big Bad Wladdy is considering him as an opponent. The possible infusion of electricity into this moribund division came in November of 2008 when former undisputed cruiserweight champion David

Haye knocked out Monte Barrett in the fifth round in just his second fight against a heavyweight. Haye, whatever your reservations may be, at least seems to want to put up or shut up. The guy is explosive, combative, and arrogant to the point where you wonder if he understands his limitations better than all those who criticize him and may know how to protect them when his title shot comes. But so what if his chin is a little shaky? He’s somewhat undersized in this era of enormo-heavyweights, and he’s a bit too willing to get into a firefight. Isn’t that just what the doctor ordered? Quite frankly, David Haye may just crash and burn before he even has the chance to wrap one of those belts around his waist, but at least he brings a brash attitude to the table. His June 20 date with Wladimir Klitschko is still tentative, but if Klitschko truly wants to gain the respect of a boxing public still unsure of him after all these years of up-and-down performances, then he should chuck his belts if mandatory defenses preclude him from fighting this guy and call Haye out. This fight should have been signed already, and ironically, even though Haye represents Wladimir’s sternest challenge, he could also be his easiest. Haye could conceivably walk right into one of Klitschko’s perfectly thrown straight right hands and hit the canvas before his British fans are even on their second pint. Then again, Wladimir’s own shaky chin could fail him yet again. And it would surprise no one. That’s what heavyweight boxing needs—something compelling. Until this fight is a done deal and they enter the ring with the intent of putting on a show to make for exciting viewing, we will be subjected to more of the same. And who in their right mind wants that? In fact, the next time I see an overweight, unmotivated heavyweight from my ringside seat or at home on television, I’ll walk away. I’ve seen enough. I don’t need to see anymore.

DAVID HAYE—THIS GENERATION’S EVANDER HOLYFIELD?

He’s brash; he’s exciting to watch, and now that he’s entered the heavyweight ranks, he’s potentially vulnerable. That vulnerability coupled with his hardhitting, take-no-prisoners style has made David “The Hayemaker” Haye a welcome addition to a division desperate for someone to shake things up. The former undisputed cruiserweight champion, two fights into his heavyweight foray, is also one of the better trash-talkers in the game. It’s a conceit that has either enthused or alienated boxing fans, and that’s just the way David Haye wants it. He’s not a quiet man carrying a big stick. He’s a man so convinced of his abilities that he feels it warrants a big mouth, and he knows that one of the countless things missing from this stale heavyweight era are sound bites that intrigue or enrage the boxing public. Haye understands that he is his best publicist, and as long as he fights in a style embraced by the fan who leans more toward bloodlust than technical precision, he has the potential to not only straighten up the current heavyweight mess but also become a very big star. Or one powerful right hand from belt holder Wladimir Klitschko could shut his mouth for good and end his dream of being the next Evander Holyfield. And believe it or not, David Haye is fine with that. “[The fans] enjoy toe-to-toe slugfests,” he said recently in a Ring Magazine interview with Brian Doogan. “And I like to entertain and give the people what they want.” As for what he sees for himself in the coming months, Haye envisions a firefight with either Wladimir or his brother, Vitali Klitschko—eventually he’d like to do away with both of them. (It now looks as though it will be Wladimir first, possibly in June.) When the dust settles, the loquacious fighter from London sees himself as the logical heir to the last great heavyweight, Lennox Lewis. “Heavyweight boxing has been in the doldrums and it’s about time it got sprinkled with some stardust again,” he says. “Both America and Britain have

been starved for a good domestic heavyweight since the Lennox Lewis— Evander Holyfield—Riddick Bowe era and my aim is to restore some of that luster that has been lost.” It is Holyfield whom Haye most readily identifies with. Both men conquered the cruiserweights before entering the heavyweight division, and both were criticized by many as being undersized and viewed as eventual victims of the bigger men they would have to engage. Even when Holyfield beat the long odds stacked against him with successive victories over steadily improving competition until he annexed the title from Buster Douglas in 1990, he was still seen as a man holding on to the titles until Mike Tyson returned from a prison sentence to reclaim what was rightfully his. Then Evander fought a fight for the ages against Riddick Bowe, losing his titles but finally gaining the respect of the boxing world with a herculean effort against a man over twenty pounds heavier than he was. Holyfield’s career trajectory would go up and down, reaching dizzying heights with his knockout of Tyson in 1996 along with several other significant victories until the wear and tear of being the smaller man and fighting with his heart on his sleeve finally caught up to him. Despite fighting on as a shell of his former self, his legacy is secure. It’s a legacy David Haye would like to approach. It remains to be seen what path Haye will travel, but if his bout with journeyman heavyweight Monte Barrett is any indication, it should be compelling no matter how it ends up. Haye knocked Barrett out in the fifth round of an entertaining scrap, but he also hit the canvas. He was quick to it that Barrett’s jab felt like a right hand thrown by a cruiserweight. “He buzzed me a couple of times in the fight but I need these types of fights to become more disciplined.” Discipline will most likely pose a problem down the road because, simply put, David loves to throw down. It comes naturally to him when things get heated up. That potential liability, along with his questionable chin that he also acknowledges, was on display for all to see against Barrett, but he got the job done in exciting fashion. Still, those shaky whiskers could prove to be his undoing against the heavy hitters of the division, namely Wladimir and Vitali Klitschko.

But David Haye expresses no reservations about what lies ahead. In a blog entry on his MySpace page, he says, “In June 2009 I will become heavyweight champion of the world. By the end of 2009, both Klitschkos will be dethroned by ‘The Hayemaker.’” And that’s what intrigues fans about this current undersized heavyweight who insists he can knock out anyone in the division. No matter the outcome, it will be exciting, and that’s just what the heavyweight division needs.

Note: Haye went on to lose by boring unanimous decision to Wladimir Klitschko.

ORTIZ FACES QUESTIONS AFTER THRILLING SLUGFEST

For a little over five rounds, Victor Ortiz and Marcos Maidana put on a fireworks display in front of a raucous crowd at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, California. After five knockdowns and concussive back-and-forth action, the rising young star with the Dickensian backstory told the ringside physician that he’d had enough, and Maidana walked away with a sixth-round technical knockout and the interim WBA super lightweight championship belt. Meanwhile, Ortiz left the ring to much applause for his valiant effort but also to questions surrounding his surrender and his comments to HBO boxing analyst Max Kellerman inside the ring after his second defeat. “I was hurt,” he said, flashing that boyish grin. “I’m not going to lay down on my back for anyone. I’m young, but I don’t think I deserve to be beat up like this. So, I have a lot of thinking to do.” His remarks belied the fighting spirit he showed in getting up from a knockdown in round one after he had put Maidana down just moments before. Ortiz had been badly hurt, and his wobbly legs threatened to drag him down to the canvas yet again. But he held on and survived the round. Neglecting to use his jab and superior boxing skills, Ortiz decided to go for broke and nearly got away with his reckless attack when he decked Maidana twice more in round two. But beginning in the third round, Maidana found a home for his right hand. He simply couldn’t miss with it. That looping shot seriously hurt Oritz in the fourth round. It opened a cut over his right eye in the fifth, and suddenly the pro-Ortiz crowd seemed slightly stunned by the turn of events. Maidana charged out of his corner at the opening bell for the sixth round, and he again clocked Ortiz with a right-hand shot that produced immediate swelling under Victor’s left eye. The fight was basically over at that point. Ortiz’s face had panic written all over it as he retreated to a neutral corner with

Maidana in hot pursuit. A left hook to the body dropped Victor, and he shook his head, conceding defeat. After a visit with the doctor, the weary fighter said he’d had enough, and that was it. It was a slugfest that any who saw it won’t soon forget but, depending on your point of view, will leave lingering doubts as to just how far Victor Ortiz will go in the future. Ortiz is such a likable guy, but his capitulation, and his attitude toward it, leads one to believe that this young, precocious kid might not have that intangible that only the truly great fighters have. And that intangible is a connection between the mind and the heart. Ortiz has all the heart in the world, as he proved in getting up from that first-round knockdown and firing back at his tormenter, but his mind began questioning that courage when things started going against him. He listened to his head instead of his heart. Great fighters, or at least fighters who aspire to be great, reach that precarious moment and never hear any whispers of doubt. It’s what made recent fighters like Diego Corrales, Israel Vazquez, and Rafael Marquez such fan favorites. Ortiz heard that voice, listened to it, and quit. And rather than disavow his decision after having a few moments to think about what he’d done, he smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and waved it off. Max Kellerman, for once in his life, seemed almost speechless. His surrender doesn’t make him unworthy of respect, certainly not after such a thrilling fight, but it brings his mental strength into question. That one decision may very well haunt him for the rest of his career. What will happen when he finds himself in that position again? When you quit once, it becomes much easier to give into fear and pain when those adversities stare you in the face once more. And Victor Ortiz isn’t a battle-scarred veteran like Erik Morales shaking his head in dismay on the canvas after suffering a severe beating from Manny Pacquiao in their third bout. This is a twenty-two-year-old upstart who needed to prove himself in his first real test. He failed. He still has that million-dollar smile and a gracious attitude, but he now has a label attached to him. And labels are like a scarlet letter in boxing—they don’t go away. Victor Ortiz, at least in the aftermath of this loss, doesn’t seem to get

that. He will soon enough.

PART III

Ten Count

GEORGE KIMBALL— AN APPRECIATION

When my obsession with the sport of boxing fully blossomed in the early 1980s, writer George Kimball was my go-to guy. His columns in the Boston Herald, along with my monthly purchases of The Ring and KO magazine, became as important to me as any school textbook. Well, to be honest, much more important. By having Kimball’s insight on a weekly basis, I always felt as though I was in the mix. His close association with Marvin Hagler and, subsequently, his fiercest rivals—Roberto Duran, Thomas Hearns, and Sugar Ray Leonard—made me feel like a part of each training camp. Being from Boston, so far removed from Las Vegas—where most of the big fights took place, Kimball’s words about Sin City gave me the flavor of what a carnival-like atmosphere a true superfight can produce. Of course, that was back when a fight like Hagler-Hearns not only dominated the sports pages but its result wound up on the front page. It was a great time to be a boxing fan, and there was a plethora of great journalism to be had. Kimball was at the forefront of all that, and the fact that he wrote for my local newspaper made him a touchstone for me when I started to try my hand at writing about the sweet science. George Kimball’s death last week from esophageal cancer didn’t come as a surprise. He had been diagnosed years ago, but his lust for life kept him remarkably productive. The Boxing Writers Association of America recently gave him the Courage in Overcoming Adversity award, but in keeping with his renegade persona, he waved his bravery off with a shrug. Till the end, his sense of humor and dignity never wavered. But the realization that no further articles will be published under his name makes it feel as though he has been wrenched out of the picture very suddenly. I guess I just assumed his work would be there for me to read every week because it always has been, and it had become part of my weekly ritual.

I would see George every so often at local boxing shows here in Massachusetts. He was always a slightly intimidating figure to me—decked out in a long black leather coat, neatly trimmed beard, and wearing cigarette smoke like cologne. I was always hesitant to approach him for fear that he might have read some of my boxing articles and found my talent lacking. So I kept my distance. A few years on, after the publication of his superb book Four Kings—his chronicle of the interlocking careers of Hagler, Duran, Hearns, and Leonard—I finally met the man at a bar in Boston where he was doing a book g. I hadn’t read the book yet, but I was preparing to write a review of it for Secondsout.com. I approached George a bit hesitantly and introduced myself. Much to my relief and astonishment, he did know who I was, which seemed to justify my whole career in my eyes. With an almost-paternal pat on the back, he told me to keep at it. “Just write,” he said with a smile and a firm grip on my arm. It was a nice evening. Goody Petronelli, Marvin Hagler’s trainer and one of the kindest men in boxing, was on hand along with several local sportswriters Kimball had been in the trenches with. At evening’s end, George took my copy of Four Kings and, in elegant cursive script, wrote, “To Matt Hurley. All my best. And keep writing! GK, 2008.” I suppose, for George, his approbation may have been no big deal. It was his night, and he was in a festive mood. But that brief moment when he took me aside meant everything to me. When I had finally decided on trying to become a writer, I had always envisioned sitting in smoky bars with other writers, all of us desperately trying to make our deadlines, trading anecdotes, and drinking too much. George Kimball lived that type of life, wrote about it, suffered through it, and survived it. That’s old-school newspaper journalism with a bit of gonzo, self-destructive behavior thrown in for good measure. It made his prose sing. Kimball’s work enthralled me for so many years. Even after he “retired,” he continued to write, and his Sunday column in the Boston Herald, filled with local updates alongside international results, was required reading. In fact, I

always glanced to the last line first to see which boxing figure was celebrating a birthday as that was always George’s sign-off for those columns. It was always fun to see a “Happy birthday” thrown out to long-forgotten fighters like “Rockin” Robin Blake, James “Hard Rock” Green, or Frank “The Animal” Fletcher. And that’s what I will miss—the work. I didn’t know George Kimball (met and talked with him just that once), but through his writing, I always felt a kinship with him. His work always made me feel that if I were in a bar, reading his column, and I looked up from the paper and saw him on the next stool, I could buy him a beer and talk boxing with him all night long. Well, maybe a club soda as Kimball’s hell-raising days were long since ed, but that everyman quality goes just as well with Canada Dry as it does with Miller High Life. Kimball’s death casts another shadow over the boxing landscape in of print journalism. There aren’t many regular boxing columns in newspapers anymore. And for me, who first started reading Kimball columns all those years ago, his absence is huge. Just the realization that his last Sunday piece was his very last leaves me wanting more. That, in my estimation, is the mark of a terrific writer. That was George Kimball.

Note: My review of George Kimball’s Four Kings can be found at Secondsout.com.

LOOKING BACK AT PAUL PENDER

For a man who defeated the great Sugar Ray Robinson twice for the middleweight crown, Paul Pender is sometimes forgotten in the pantheon of exceptional 160-pound fighters. A solid, rugged boxer who rose to the top near the end of his career, Pender sadly remains in a sort of fistic limbo outside of his hometown of Brookline, Massachusetts. His name doesn’t resonate like Robinson’s or Carmen Basilio’s, both of whom he defeated. Still, such was his talent, despite brittle hands that plagued him throughout his career, that he was properly inducted into the Boxing Hall of Fame in 1994. There is a special bond that Boston-area boxing fans have for local blue-collar fighters who climb the ranks slowly and finally achieve their dream of becoming world champions. The two most famous from the area, outside of heavyweight champion John L. Sullivan, both fought out of Brockton—Rocky Marciano and Marvelous Marvin Hagler. They reached the pinnacle of superstardom. Toss in an Irish pedigree, such as Lowell’s Micky Ward, and you’ve got a raucous, rabid fan base overflowing with scaly caps, pints of Guinness, Irish chants, and good cheer. Pender—born in Brookline but whose family roots lay in Killarney, County Kerry—was just such a fighter. To this day, his picture can be found in many a Boston Irish pub. The boxing world, in general, may have forgotten him to an extent, but hardcore fans in Massachusetts never have. Pender, the son of a fireman (and he later became a fireman himself), enjoyed some early success in the ring before finally dropping a decision to Norman Hayes in 1950 in Boston. He would reverse that result by knockout in the immediate rematch, but he would it later that the loss had rattled him and tore apart his confidence. In his next five bouts, the dispirited fighter would win only once, getting knocked out twice. Disillusioned, Pender walked away from the sport for nearly two years. He ed the marines and soon became the coach for the boxing team. But Pender, who commented that he felt there was unfinished business to attend

to in the ring, came back in 1954 to win a decision over Larry Villeneuve. Then in 1955 in Brooklyn, New York, he took on the awkward and tenacious Gene Fullmer. It was in this losing effort that Pender showed his grit, heart, and determination. He broke his left hand early in the bout and then his right hand in the later rounds. Still, despite hitting the canvas and hands that felt like balloons, he went the distance. The fight with Fullmer should have solidified his reputation and given him the confidence to soldier on. Instead, he disappeared for over a year—a huge amount of inactivity for a boxer in the 1950s. He finally came back in late 1956 to outpoint Jimmy Skinner, but again his hands let him down. He broke his right hand, and then he literally threw those aching paws up in the air in disgust and retired for nearly two years. In the interim, the sometimes wild and perhaps angry young man lost his way with drink before marrying, having kids, and settling down into a comfort zone he hadn’t known for some time. It was at this time that he became a fireman to his family. But his dreams of fistic glory still burned in his heart, and he decided to give it one more shot. After several successful fights in 1958 and early 1959, he faced popular middleweight contender Ralph “Tiger” Jones. Surprisingly, his fragile hands held up, and Pender boxed with an elegant grace to win a unanimous decision. Meanwhile, the middleweight division was in upheaval. Sugar Ray Robinson, the reigning champion, was stripped of the NBA version of the crown for inactivity, forcing a face-off between Carmen Basilio and Gene Fullmer. However, many areas followed the New York State Commission’s decision to still recognize Robinson as the real middleweight champion, including Massachusetts. This would lead to Pender’s title shot against Robinson and his greatest glory as a prizefighter. Robinson said before the fight when he was offered seventy thousand dollars while not knowing who Pender was, “For that amount of money I’d fight Paul Revere in Boston.”* Entering the 1960 title challenge as a prohibitive underdog and completely underestimated by Robinson, Pender survived an early assault to win the title by

split decision in front of an elated Boston Garden crowd. Robinson later commented that he “just couldn’t get going. I got tired.”** The rematch, later that June, was also held in Boston and was another closely contested affair—although one of the judges’ scorecards, at 149-138 for Pender, was so out of whack that it proves that bad judging has gone on forever in the sport. But Pender got the decision he deserved. He would then face off against another popular middleweight, British contender Terry Downes, in a trilogy befitting some of the great rivalries in boxing. In the first go-round, he stopped Downes in the seventh stanza of a terrific battle. Pender graciously commented, “Sugar is clever and hard to catch, but Downes comes at you all the time and hurts you with everything he hits you with.”** Before the rematch, Pender decided to square off against another legend of the ring, Carmen Basilio, again in Boston. He floored the iron-chinned Onion Farmer and went on to decision him easily over fifteen rounds. Then came Downes again at Wembley in London less than three months later. Both men were cut severely in a clutch-and-grab fest that left Pender unable to continue after the ninth round. The two rivals would face off for a third time in April of 1962 back in Boston. Pender again employed a more mauling tactic and regained the title by unanimous decision. He was then set to fight Gene Fullmer again for NBA recognition as the legitimate middleweight champion, but Fullmer, under pressure from the NBA commission, was strong-armed into defending his title against Dick Tiger. Fullmer lost by unanimous decision, and the aging Pender began to again become disillusioned with all the backstage machinations that often chewed fighters up and spat them out without so much as a thank-you. When a scheduled fight against future light heavyweight champion Jose Torres fell apart, Pender simply gave up, later saying, “Boxing is so rotten with gangsters and thieves it should be banned for a five-year clean up period.”** After retiring from the ring, Pender worked as a security guard and later as a recreation director at the Norfolk jail in Massachusetts.

After suffering a serious stroke in 1999, he would go on to battle Alzheimer’s disease until his death in January of 2003. In the end, Paul Pender remains something of a hidden gem in the storied history of the middleweight division. Despite his later aversion to the sport—or more to the point of the shady business dealings that often crippled his career—Pender always conducted himself with dignity and fought with a fiery spirit that led him to the top of the heap. For that, his career deserves reexamining. Any fighter who defeated Sugar Ray Robinson twice should get as much.

* Sugar Ray with Dave Anderson ** Boxrec.com

JULY—THE MONTH FROM HELL

The stunning news that junior middleweight champion Vernon Forrest had been shot and killed Saturday night during an apparent carjacking left an alreadydazed and confused boxing community collectively looking up to the heavens and asking, “Why?” The month of July in 2009 will long be ed as one of the most tragic months in the history of boxing. First, on July 1, the legendary Alexis Arguello committed suicide with a gunshot to the chest. Such a violent end for such a gentle soul just didn’t seem to make any sense. Arguello was dignity and class personified, but he had, for many years since his retirement in 1995, suffered from bouts of depression. Still, his public persona was so regal and his comion for people so consuming that those of us on the outside looking in assumed his dark days were behind him. But depression is only ever really in remission if it is being treated properly. It never truly goes away. A good day feels like rebirth, but so insidious is the disease of depression that it is always lurking in the shadows. Alexis understood that, talked about it, and battled it privately. When he lost that battle, those of us who loved and revered him just couldn’t quite make sense of it all. In the end, we didn’t live inside his head, so we’ll never truly know just how much he hurt. After writing a tribute to Arguello, it took me longer than I expected to get over it. I only met and spoke with Alexis once. It was a special day for me because Arguello represented not only everything I love about boxing but about sports in general—will, skill, professionalism, and humility. He was one of my first heroes. His death affected me so deeply because I felt as though I’d lost something that belongs to me. I just assumed he’d always be there. As I prepared notes for a follow-up article on Arguello’s great rival, Aaron Pryor, I got the news that Arturo Gatti had died. Only two weeks had ed since Alexis had taken his own life.

Strangely, I was at the Mohegan Sun in Connecticut that Saturday night. Walking into the casino with my sister Alison, I dragged her over to an event poster under glass that had a large color photograph of Gatti and Micky Ward. I mentioned their famous first fight to her and told her this was where it took place. After watching the Red Sox game at one of the many bars, then catching a Beatles cover band in the Wolf Den and dropping some cash at the gaming tables, I went back to my hotel room and switched on ESPN’s SportsCenter. And that’s when I heard the shocking news. Gatti’s death left me reeling. I just sat on my hotel bed in disbelief, waiting for every update on what had happened. Walking past that photograph the next morning left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Gatti had come to be the face of boxing when it came to my friends, none of whom are die-hard fight fans. But the mere mention of Arturo’s name would bring them in droves to my apartment. They all knew that as long as Gatti was involved, something dramatic would happen. And it always did. Sitting alone in my apartment several nights later, I watched six Gatti fights in a row—the first bout with Ivan Robinson, his two classic comebacks against Wilson Rodriguez and Gabriel Ruelas, and the trilogy with Micky Ward. I just watched, drank beer, and hoped I could write something about Arturo akin to what I wrote for Alexis. But nothing came—total writer’s block. Later that night, I received an e-mail from Frankie Pryor, Aaron’s wife. The interview I wanted to do with Aaron would have to wait. The Hawk had been overwhelmed with interview requests regarding Arguello, and he had decided to shut it down. It was all too much; he didn’t want to discuss it anymore. I actually sighed with relief because the Gatti tragedy was still playing out in the news, and my mind was elsewhere. I had also been planning to head out to Lowell, Massachusetts, where filming had just begun on The Fighter. The movie, starring Mark Wahlberg and Christian Bale, centers on the life of Micky Ward and his brother Dickie Eklund. I’ve interviewed Micky before, and I knew how much he cared for Gatti, so I decided to stay away. Micky subsequently made his way up to Montreal for the funeral.

As the details surrounding Gatti’s death initially pointed to murder at the hands of his wife, autopsy results came back somewhat inconclusive, further dragging out the tragedy. And just then, as everyone tied to boxing had started to clear their heads and prepared to move on, violence struck again in the form of two or more pieces of shit from the streets with nothing better to do than rob an upstanding citizen of his wallet and car keys. It happens all the time—so much so that unfortunately we’ve become desensitized to it. Violence is commonplace in our society, and the death of Vernon Forrest amidst a hail of bullets fired at his back makes him another depressing statistic. (Forensic details about the shooting are still pending.) In the end, the deaths of all three fighters reflect the violence that pervades our society. Were they not attached to celebrity, the news of their deaths would have been localized and relegated to just three more tragic stories that we read in the papers, shake our heads at in disgust, and then move on to the next story. That next story could be another sports tragedy but involving a less celebrated athlete. And yes, there was another fighter who died this month. Marco Antonio Nazareth ed away in a hospital in Puerto Vallarta on July 22, four days after suffering a brain hemorrhage in a fourth-round knockout loss to Omar Chavez. Nazareth’s death has been overshadowed by recent events, but his loss is no less significant. He just wasn’t as famous. But the death of a famous person affects us in a communal way because we see something of ourselves in them, or perhaps we want to emulate them in some way, or we simply appreciate the talent they display on that grand stage. They thrill us; we look forward to their next performance, pine for their glory days in the waning stages of their career, or wonder what they’re doing now that the spotlight has dimmed. Alexis Arguello, Arturo Gatti, and Vernon Forrest performed for us at the highest level of their profession. They were champions all and good guys as well —guys you’d want to sit down and have a beer with—as high a compliment this cynical writer can pay. They were also all-too human, and their deaths remind us all the fragility of life. All three led extraordinary lives in their own unique ways. It’s why we as fans

were drawn to them in the first place and why now, with the finality of their deaths, we can’t seem to move on to the next story. It just seems to be too much to take in all at once. We will all eventually move on, and the memories of Alexis, Arturo, and Vernon will all revolve around their accomplishments and their humanity. But for now, we grieve and wonder why the lives of three true gentlemen had to end so prematurely.

ALEXIS ARGUELLO—A CHAMPION IN AND OUT OF THE RING

There isn’t much I can say about Alexis Arguello’s ring accomplishments that haven’t already been articulated in much better prose than I am capable of. He was simply a magnificent fighting machine—a technician who studied his opponent until he noticed a weakness and then exploited it—usually with a laser beam of a right cross. He was one of those rare athletes whom you didn’t simply enjoy watching—you knew you were witnessing something very special. And then his gentlemanly nature elevated him even further into that rarefied stature of beloved sports icons. He was a man who lived for the precision and, yes, the brutality of his profession. But when the job was done, he became conflicted by the violence of what lifted him to both athletic greatness and into the hearts and minds of his countrymen who adored him and boxing fans who revered him. That gentle nature and killer instinct left him at odds with his inner nature and why he was ever celebrated in the first place. He spoke often of his inability to reconcile himself with a sport that gave him an identity but constantly challenged his kind nature. His rushing to a fallen opponent and embracing him, offering him solace in that lonely space that is defeat, so often exemplified Arguello’s inner struggle over the violence of his art. Never was that more evident than in his nationally televised bout with Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini on CBS in 1981. After stopping the popular young fighter in the fourteenth round, Arguello cradled Mancini’s battered face in his hands and told him how much he loved him and his father. Mancini’s father, a former fighter who never reached the level his son did, was sitting ringside and broke down at the sight of his son’s defeat and the noble Arguello’s immediate commiseration. It was an emotional afternoon that I will never forget and have recently relived on what is now a sacred DVD. Alexis Arguello’s father, a shoemaker who toiled day and night to feed his eight children, had tried to commit suicide by jumping down what he thought was an empty well. When he hit the bottom, there was a high level of water, and he survived. When medical personnel were called to the scene to get him out, they

tied a chair to a rope, lowered it down, and told him to sit on the chair. Guillermo Arguello, still in the throes of turmoil, tied the rope around his neck and then told the firefighters above to pull him up. When he reached the fresh night air, his face was blue, and he was nearly dead from strangulation, but he survived. The lingering doubts about his life’s worth were, apparently, ed on to his son Alexis. The strange dichotomy of unending achievement, which one would think would generate inner peace, and the sinister shadow that is depression haunted Alexis throughout his life. He had attempted suicide himself before—in front of his young son AJ. But seeing the tears in his baby’s eyes forced him to lower the gun pointed at his temple, and he tried to find the strength to carry on. Arguello won titles in three weight divisions—featherweight, super featherweight, and lightweight. However, he is probably most famous for a fight he lost: his epic first battle against Aaron Pryor in 1982 for a then-unprecedented fourth title at junior welterweight. The fight simply speaks for itself—a brutal yet artistic and fistic masterpiece. It pitted two all-time greats at the height of their powers, pushing each other to the limits of human endurance. It stands alongside the first battle between Sugar Ray Leonard and Thomas Hearns in 1981 and the middleweight showdown between Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns in 1985 as the best fight of the decade. Arguello slipped into unconsciousness after a twenty-three-punch fusillade from a relentless Pryor in the fourteenth round. He would never be the same again. It was a defeat that seemed to cripple him emotionally. A rematch in 1983 led to an even more conclusive defeat. Yet he and Pryor became good friends, comradesin-arms. I was privileged enough to see both men embrace warmly at the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 2008. There was such love there. I also noticed how protective Arguello’s son AJ was of his father. Arguello embraced me for what is now a treasured photograph and autograph session. As always, he was moviestar handsome, decked out in an elegant gray suit. The man loved nice clothes. When I leaned forward and rather awkwardly told him how much I loved him, he hugged me, as he did every fan I saw him with that day, and he said to me,

very simply, “Thank you so much. That means so much to me.” He seemed a happy man that day. But in retrospect, perhaps his family was clinging to him so tightly and protectively because they knew more than we ever truly did. Arguello’s life after retirement saw a brief comeback and then a slip and fall into cocaine addiction and endless financial problems. His troubles in his homeland had led this celebrated public figure to see his mother and sister thrown out of their home by the Sandinistas, whom he once ed, in 1979 during the civil war in Nicaragua. His brother Eduardo would eventually be shot and killed while fighting for the Sandinistas. They subsequently took from Alexis everything he had, and he fled to Miami, Florida. This personal tumult was both forced upon him from outside forces and then attacked him from within as inner demons brought him to his knees. Arguello would soon fight, rifle in hand, for the Contras against the Sandinista regime. But the war would leave him shattered emotionally. War, ultimately, made no sense to him. Years later, after seeking refuge in the United States, the IRS would come calling. The financial strife would lead to an aborted comeback in the ring. After a surprise knockout victory over former junior welterweight champion Billy Costello in 1986, he would lose to unheralded Scott Walker by decision and then be diagnosed with what doctors called a heart defect or murmur. In a wonderful article by Sports Illustrated writer Gary Smith in 1985, the author speaks of the endless contradictions in Arguello’s character. But the one trait that commentators, family, friends, opponents, and fans always agreed upon back then and now is that Alexis was a genuinely nice man. He was a gentleman who cared so much about people that he ran for political office in his country and won, becoming mayor of Managua. He also carried his country’s flag at the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. In the aftermath of his death by suicide, I’ve found myself asking, like so many who thought they knew him in some small way, “Why?” In the end, the mystery of such a tragic ending only reminds us that even people who seem to have every gift God can give can still suffer inside. The fragility of the human psyche, the heart, should never be underestimated.

I will forever Alexis Arguello as a great champion and a true gentleman. He was a man who gave a little bit of his time to me and made me very happy by his gesture. I will never forget his reply to me when I so clumsily told him how much I loved him. “Thank you so much,” he said with that matinee-idol smile. “That means so much to me.” Thank you, Alexis. You will be forever missed.

Author’s Note: Gary Smith’s 1985 profile of Alexis Arguello can be found in the Sports Illustrated online section by following the link provided below.

http://vault.sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1120040/index.htm.

LOOKING BACK AT EDWIN ROSARIO

He was blessed with smooth boxing skills and crunching power in both hands. But his inner demons led him down a self-destructive path that robbed him of his career, his family and his sense of self-worth. When he rallied, pulling himself together with the help of treatment and a return to the ring, the damage already done to his body over those years of abuse conspired against him and left him dead at the age of thirty-four in parents’ home. There was a time when Edwin Rosario was touted as the next great Puerto Rican fighter, and some even made comparisons to Roberto Duran. His popularity grew exponentially over a short period of time and by 1983, at the age of twenty, he became the WBC lightweight champion with a unanimous decision victory over future hall of fame inductee Jose Luis Ramirez. His star on the rise, he knocked out Roberto Elizondo in one round and then engaged in a dramatic twelve round give-and-take with 1976 Olympic gold medalist Howard Davis Jr. Trailing the crafty boxer on the scorecards Rosario, always dangerous, dropped his rival flat on his back with only seconds remaining in the final round to hang on to his title by split decision. It was the type of victory that propelled him to the upper echelon of boxing’s biggest television stars and onto many a pound-for-pound best list. And then things would never be quite the same. A rematch with Ramirez produced the kind of fireworks fans crave and it garnered fight of the year honors. But there was no comeback in this return match for Edwin. Despite flooring Ramirez twice, in the first and second rounds, Rosario fell apart in the fourth, crashing into the turnbuckle after a relentless Ramirez assault forcing referee Steve Crosson to stop the fight. Edwin Rosario was born in Ingenio, a rough barrio of Toa Baja in Puerto Rico. As a youngster he was nicknamed ‘Chapo’ by playmates—a condensed version of chaparrito meaning “little man”.

According to Rosario at around the age of eight or nine he discovered the Lecittown Gym and decided to see what it was all about. The smell of the gym, the rat-a-tat-tat of the speed bags and the machismo of the fighters in training captivated little Edwin and trainer Manny Sciaca would later say the kid was a natural. His innate ability was pulled out of him easily and Rosario had the look early on of a future world champion. There was another inspiration for ‘Chapo’ as well—his older brother ‘Papa’ Rosario who had become enamored with boxing a few years earlier and was in the beginning stages of a promising career. In a foreshadowing of what would happen to their younger son that would leave any parent stricken with grief, ‘Papa’ succumbed to the often tragic lure of the streets and all the dark shadows therein. He would die in a drug related incident. Edwin, only two years into his career, was devastated and would dedicate all his future hard work in the ring to his older brother. When the title shot eventually came against Ramirez, Edwin was ready but his older opponent was more experienced. In a close fight, Rosario came out on top but suffered a severe setback when he injured his right wrist. The subsequent surgery left him on the sidelines for an extended period of time. Edwin always felt the procedure done on his wrist, which would become an intermittent hindrance throughout his career, never took or healed properly. “That first operation was not a success,” he lamented. “They wanted to do another one, with a bone graft. But if they had I don’t think I would have been able to fight again. It was a real tough time. I was worried about the future of my career.” Rosario opted for acupuncture instead and moved on until the loss against Ramirez in the rematch. He was convinced the wrist hadn’t properly healed, or it simply played on his mind making him more tentative to throw the right hand. This lapse would often plague some of his performances. He would often start strong, looking for the early knockout, as he did against Howard Davis Jr. If it didn’t come his punch rate would drop alarmingly. Sometimes he seemed to sleepwalk through rounds. But then, more often than not and with the prodding of his corner men, the fire would return and something dramatic would happen. He would move on from the Ramirez defeat amidst whispers that he was never quite as good as everyone initially thought. Those criticisms bothered him to no

end. One loss, in the fight of the year no less, should not have dissuaded fans and the press of his abilities. According to Edwin it was simply a bad night. “I took a chance on knocking him out early,” he said later. “I lost. That’s part of boxing.” No other explanation should have been necessary. Undefeated records in boxing are rare and in most cases the result of a fighter avoiding top competition. Still, to this day, a zero in a fighter’s loss column seems to hold some significance with some people and it is utter nonsense. But it did get under Rosario’s skin making him ask the same questions of himself as others were lobbing at him. Oddly, after a few comeback victories including one over future Julio Cesar Chavez conqueror Frankie Randall, it would be another loss that revived his career and put him back on center stage. In June of 1986, as a significant underdog, he faced off against one of the biggest names in the sport, Hector ‘Macho’ Camacho. In a fight many thought would be a walkover for the streaking Camacho, Rosario badly staggered his cocky foe in the fifth round with a perfectly timed left hook. With the rounds tightly contested the big fifth seemed to turn the crowd in Rosario’s favor. He did it again in the eleventh with another short left hook that had Camacho back peddling and holding on for the remainder of the fight. Then, when the judges’ scorecards were read, the split decision went to Hector. Edwin appeared shell-shocked at the announcement but it was the crowd’s reaction that boosted his spirits. “I was down when the decision was announced,” he said, “but the people started to boo him and cheer for me.” In hopes of a rematch that would never come—Camacho, for all his braggadocio, never wanted to tangle with Rosario again—the WBA elevated ‘Chapo’ in its rankings, forcing a showdown with champion Livingstone Bramble. Once again a huge underdog Rosario entered the ring poised, confident and unusually calm. It was all over in the second round when a right hand exploded on Bramble’s usually reliable chin and ended matters.

Rosario immediately called out Camacho, who fought to a tedious decision victory in the main event on the same card against an aging Cornelius BozaEdwards. But Hector waved a rematch off. Many believe those two near knockdowns he suffered through against Edwin broke his fighting spirit. He was never the same fighter again. Things looked to be back on track for Rosario but in 1987 he ran into a prime Julio Cesar Chavez. Chavez systematically broke Rosario apart in one of the best performances of his lengthy career. With his eye swollen shut, blood pouring from a cut in his mouth, his body ravaged by left hooks to the liver, Rosario fought with a champion’s heart until the bout was finally stopped by his corner in the eleventh round. Once again Edwin was forced to climb the ranks and when Chavez moved out of the division he fought again for his old title against Anthony Jones, stopping him in the sixth round. With the victory he became one of only a handful of fighters to win world championships in the same division three times. He then took on Juan Nazario, a fighter he had already defeated by eighth round knockout three years earlier. But this time Nazario turned the tables stopping Rosario because of cuts after eight stanzas. It was around this time that rumors about Rosario’s outside ring activities began to surface. But he would seemingly put them to bed when he moved up to the junior welterweight division and stopped WBA champion Loreto Garza in the third round. And then, in his first defense, he was shockingly stopped in the first round by Akinobu Hiranaka. After that nothing was the same. He would lose in another rematch to Frankie Randall and then vanished into a sea of drugs and alcohol that kept him out of the ring for over four years. So desperate had his plight become that he was arrested after stealing a case of beer from a local supermarket. His downward spiral nearly complete, his wife and kids were gone and in his shambolic state he had moved back in with his parents, Edwin decided his only safe haven was the boxing ring. He entered a drug and alcohol rehabilitation program and eventually went back to the gym. But he was no longer a star or courted by the major TV networks. Instead he was fighting on obscure cards and the ignominy of where he was as

opposed to where he once was tortured his now fragile psyche. On December 1, 1997 he visited his ex-wife and four daughters but left their home abruptly, complaining of not feeling well. After returning to his parents’ house he again said the same thing and went to his room to lie down. About an hour later his father went in to check on him and found his son dead in his bed. Just like that, at only thirty-four, he was gone. An autopsy would later reveal that he had died of an aneurysm, with fluid having accumulated in his lungs. Doctors would also add that his past history with drugs and alcohol were a major contributing factor, although neither was found in his system at the time of his death. Sadly, it looked as though Edwin was trying to stay clean and get his life together when it suddenly ended. Despite the sad deterioration of his final years, and never quite reaching his full potential as a boxer, Rosario’s funeral in Puerto Rico become an event for a fallen hero. It was estimated that over five thousand people went to the funeral or lined the streets as the coffin was driven slowly to the cemetery. It wasn’t supposed to end that way for Edwin Rosario. There was too much promise and too much talent for such a depressing conclusion. But drugs and booze don’t discriminate. They can cripple anyone from any walk of life. The real tragedy of Edwin’s short life is that in that final year or two he was trying to get his life back on track. But his body had enough and time ran out on him where it all began, in his parents’ home. Still, Edwin Rosario left behind a career that is worth rediscovering. When he was good he was very good, bordering on great. There are at least a dozen fights that he was involved in that should be required viewing for any diehard boxing fan. And it was that excitement he brought to the ring, along with his proficient skills and fighting spirit that led to his induction into the International Boxing Hall Of Fame in 2006. In that sense, Rosario now resides peacefully alongside all the other inductees at Canastota—a warrior gone home. And there is something comforting in that.

PART IV

Hooks and Jabs

A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR JERMAIN TAYLOR

Jermain Taylor’s announcement that he would bow out of Showtime’s Super Six World Boxing Classic in the wake of his vicious knockout loss to Arthur Abraham came as a relief. Taylor, long a favorite at this address, was scheduled to take on super middleweight titleholder Andre Ward in the second round of the tournament on April 17. But the Arkansas native fought twice in 2009, against Abraham and Carl Froch, and was knocked out brutally both times with only seconds remaining in the final round. His pride and fighting spirit told him to carry on, but family and friends seem to have brought him to the realization that a long rest is his only true recourse. “I’m going to take some time off from the sport of boxing and take myself out of the Showtime World Boxing Classic tournament,” he said in an official statement. “It’s important that I give my body and mind some much needed rest because I have been boxing for nearly twenty years. I plan on keeping myself in shape and making a return to the sport sometime in the future.” Good for him. The right hand from Abraham that separated Jermain from his senses caused a severe concussion and short-term memory loss. After being released from the hospital, the fighter seemed intent on participating in the second round of the tournament, but those closest to him advised him that a break would be in his best interest. His promoter, Lou DiBella, who genuinely cares for him, resigned when Taylor notified him that he would fight on. DiBella’s decision to walk away from a fighter he’s worked with since his professional beginnings probably prodded Taylor into making his final decision. It was a classy move on DiBella’s part, considering all the money he would have made had he decided to continue promoting his fighter. DiBella told ESPN.com, “I know it must have been a difficult decision for

Jermain, and I’m very happy for him and his family that he decided to give himself a much-needed break.” Taylor’s ascension to boxing prominence began in the 2000 Olympic Games in Sydney where he won a bronze medal. He was heavily courted by HBO and became one of their up-and-coming stars. He hit pay dirt in 2005 when he won a split decision over Bernard Hopkins to claim the undisputed middleweight crown. He would again outpoint Hopkins in the rematch, this time by unanimous decision, but the close nature of both fights took some of the shine off his achievement in the eyes of many. Maybe HBO’s new golden child wasn’t quite the fighter he’d been hyped to be. Considering the extraordinary run Hopkins went on after those two losses makes Taylor’s two spirited efforts against the Executioner more impressive in retrospect. Taylor’s middleweight reign would become something of a headache for the talented but precocious fighter. No matter what he did, whom he fought, or the manner in which he fought, it would never be enough to win over the naysayers. And when he failed to achieve the lofty goals others had set for him, the criticism came in volleys until he finally collapsed under the thunderous punches of Kelly Pavlik in 2007. Yet he never complained. His Arkansas homespun civility precluded him from becoming arrogant when he won or infuriated in the face of criticism when he struggled and ultimately left him humbled when he lost. After those two close victories over Hopkins, which was when all the criticism started, Taylor then took on a succession of difficult opponents, starting with defensive wizard Ronald “Winky” Wright. In yet another close pitched battle, Taylor escaped with a hard-fought draw. And the criticism continued to mount. He then took on and beat still the tough Kassim Ouma and the tricky Cory Spinks. Neither bout helped his cause, but without taking a breath, he signed to fight rising contender, and now current middleweight kingpin, Pavlik. The two engaged in a breathtaking battle that saw Taylor nearly knock out Pavlik in the second round before finally coming undone in the seventh round after a vicious assault. It was the type of fight that elevated both men, but it must have been bittersweet for the former champ to realize that only in defeat had he finally won over his skeptics.

Perhaps for that reason, he immediately signed to fight Pavlik again, this time in an over-the-weight nontitle bout. Taylor fought irably, but a late surge from Pavlik helped him capture a close unanimous decision. There are some who think Jermain Taylor was as good as he would ever get in his two bouts with Bernard Hopkins. His talent had reached its apex, and he struggled but fought evenly with a future Hall of Famer. Others believe that had he followed a more disciplined training regime, like that of Hopkins, and adopted a more healthy diet between bouts, his stamina may never have become the liability that it did. The reality is that Jermain Taylor was never going to be an all-time-great fighter. There were too many flaws—too many chinks in his armor that were never corrected. Had he been a gym rat like Hopkins, he may have found the wherewithal to withstand the final-round assaults of Pavlik in their second fight and Carl Froch in April of 2009. But his love for cheeseburgers packed on the pounds between fights, and a changing set of trainers, each focused on different aspects of the game, all conspired against him. He was also a little too much of the country boy—a kid who suddenly made a great deal of money after struggling for so long and could finally indulge his healthy appetites. But despite his shortcomings, he always fought his heart out. He did everything he could with what he had, and he did it with a wounded pride. His willingness to get in the ring with anyone eventually brought his critics around. How can you not applaud a man who fought Bernard Hopkins twice, Kelly Pavlik twice, and most recently Carl Froch and Arthur Abraham back-to-back? And all six of those fights were compelling affairs. The odd thing about Jermain Taylor’s career has been his precocious nature— that youthful exuberance that never seemed to go away. All the wrinkles in his game that should have been ironed out over time just stayed right there for all to see. He never seemed to learn how to pace himself or relax in the ring. He never truly matured. Perhaps that revolving door that spun in trainer after trainer is to blame, but if it is, then the blame must be placed on Jermain’s shoulders. It was his decision after all. Yet after winning the middleweight title, his competitive nature kicked into overdrive. His courage eventually eclipsed his talent—or perhaps it always did.

That was what made you root for him, and it’s what made you cringe when he lay flat on his back, unconscious, still jabbing at the air after Arthur Abraham concussed him. And it’s why we should acknowledge his decision to drop out of the Super Six tournament as the correct decision. The kid needs a break. Whether that break should be a permanent one from the occupation that has dominated his life for the last two decades is something Taylor will have to decide for himself in the coming months. If we have seen the last of Jermain Taylor in the ring, it says here that his career will be reevaluated in a more positive light than when it was in motion. He wasn’t the best of his era, but he fought many of the best and gave them all they could handle. His courage and competitive spirit were his two greatest assets, and they were on display each and every time he stepped through the ropes. And for a professional prizefighter, that’s really all we can ask for.

Note: Taylor returned to the ring in December of 2011. He scored an eighthround technical knockout over Jessie Nicklow.

VICTOR ORTIZ COMES FULL CIRCLE

There is something so uniquely human when a boxer finds his courage, his sense of self-worth, called into question by people who have never truly experienced what it’s like to suffer the punishment of fists slamming into one’s body and head. In a young, up-and-coming fighter, the reaction is often muted bewilderment. Fans can be forgiven by fighters for their boos or disdain because boxing is a sport like any other. They like who they like and cheer for their heroes. But there is another faction of the boxing community that many fighters have a love/hate relationship with, and that, of course, is the boxing media. Many boxers would agree with Will Rogers when he opined about journalists in general: “I hope we never live to see the day when a thing is as bad as our newspapers make it.” But you have to expect that from the so-called Fourth Estate because fighters, in particular those at the elite level, are as blessed or consumed by egos the size of the arenas in which they perform as they are blessed with such unique and rare talent. Victor Ortiz—and for that matter the most egomaniacal fighter of his time, Floyd Mayweather—will tell you unflinchingly that writers are even worse than they themselves could ever possibly be. And to an extent, they’re correct. Every boxing writer worth his salt has written something he wishes he could take back. However, sometimes a seemingly coldhearted critique can work in the fighter’s favor without him ever quite realizing it. Or in the case of Ortiz, he may not want to it to it—rather use it as a motivational tool to repair a wounded psyche. Back in 2009, in a wild fight against Marcos Maidana, Ortiz relented and did what many consider to be the ultimate sin in the brutal sport of boxing—he quit.

That, in itself, could have been forgiven after a time had the young kid from Oxnard, California, not said afterward, “I was hurt. I’m not going to lay down on my back for anyone. I’m young, but I don’t think I deserve to be beat up like this. So, I have a lot of thinking to do.” The backlash was immediate. Many in the media, this writer included, questioned Ortiz’s desire and seemed prepared to write off the talented but precocious youngster as a front-runner who would never be ready for the big time. He seemed lacking in the requisite courage department. After the fight, I wrote, “It was a slugfest that any who saw it won’t soon forget. But, depending on your point of view, will leave lingering doubts as to just how far Victor Ortiz will go in the future.” It was remarks like this that at first left the fighter feeling hurt and perhaps betrayed. As time went on, they fueled a fire in his belly that would lead him to a wonderfully courageous performance against Andre Berto two years later. In taking the WBC welterweight belt from the champion, Ortiz faced many of the same questions he did against Maidana, but this time, he didn’t question himself. When he hit the canvas, he got back up and fought harder. He proved to himself and his critics that he indeed did have what it took to be a champion. It was exhilarating to watch. However, the Victor Ortiz that emerged with that gaudy green belt around his waist was not the smiling, joking-around kid who had so charmed the public before his capitulation against Maidana. In his place was an angrier young man, pointing an accusatory finger at his most hated nemesis—the boxing scribes who tore him apart. It says here that his reaction to all the doubters toughened up an unsuspecting neophyte and was the best medicine anyone could have prescribed for him. He became hardened and started to feel and then glanced down approvingly at the growing chip on his shoulder. Ortiz learned a lot from that experience, and he came out the better for it. In fact, had he not performed with such intensity in the Berto fight, while still revealing some correctable flaws, he would never have found himself in the position he is now—preparing for a grand-stage showdown with Floyd Mayweather at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas on September 17. Whether or not, at this early stage of his fistic development, he will be able to

compete evenly with one of the truly great fighters of his time remains to be seen. But one thing is for certain—there will be no quit in him. As he said in his HBO Face Off interview with Max Kellerman, “I’m always the underdog and it doesn’t bother me anymore.” He then added, with a bit of a snarl, “You [Kellerman] along with many in the world said I have no courage. I have nothing. When you said that to me, you ripped my heart out and stomped all over it. I say, ‘Thanks Max.’” Victor was using Kellerman as his verbal whipping boy, but his words were aimed at many, and he meant everything he said. It’s that ever-widening chip on his shoulder that served him so well in the Berto fight, and he will need that fiery arrogance against Mayweather if he is to acquit himself with aplomb. Accordingly, Ortiz has readily taken to the pomp and circumstance surrounding such a big event with little of the starry-eyed wonder he projected just a few years ago. He has some veteran blood coursing through his veins now, and in his baleful brown eyes and that little smile that sometimes comes to his face, it’s obvious that he thinks he has truly arrived, and nothing any writer might scribble down about him will affect him anymore. Unfortunately, all he has to truly worry about now is one Floyd Mayweather, and he will prove to be a much-tougher obstacle to overcome than any media hack.

Note: Ortiz would regress against Mayweather, losing by fourth-round knockout and then losing to Josesito Lopez by ninth-round stoppage after suffering from an apparent broken jaw.

COTTO AND PACQUIAO GEAR UP FOR THE FIGHT OF THE YEAR

When the fight was announced, the two combatants were coming off markedly different performances. One frighteningly dominant, the other a test of wills that came down to a scant, few points on the judges’ scorecards. One fighter seemed to be leapfrogging the perilous climb to pound-for-pound supremacy while the other seemed to be finding slippery wet patches as he struggled onward and upward. That their ring accomplishments over the years are in fact comparable became a moot point—one was spectacularly exciting, the other as stoic and measured in his ring approach as his manner. Manny Pacquiao and Miguel Cotto, who will meet in the year’s biggest and most significant bout on November 14, have so much more in common than their respective fans and critics would contend. And the level of experience and professionalism both men bring to the ring all but guarantees a fistic display of the highest quality. When Manny Pacquiao flattened Ricky Hatton with one short, picture-perfect left hook in the second round of their May junior welterweight to-do, he had completed his metamorphosis from a left-hook-happy, whirling-dervish slugger with bad balance into a compact, lightning-quick, complete fighter. The comparisons to the legendary Henry Armstrong may or may not have been a bit premature, but his résumé demands respect. Strangely, it was the series of bouts before his recent three-fight blitzkrieg that saw him decimate David Diaz, Oscar De La Hoya, and Hatton that established his vaunted reputation. Pacquiao did battle with a murderer’s row of future Hall of Famers in Erik Morales (three times), Marco Antonio Barrera (two times), and Juan Manuel Marquez (two times). It was these seven bouts, in which he went 5-1-1, that cemented his vaunted reputation. His annihilation of Diaz at lightweight, De La Hoya at welterweight, and Hatton

at junior welterweight constituted nineteen rounds of fistic perfection. Not only didn’t he lose one stanza, his opposition barely laid a glove on him. Revisionists now maintain that all three entered the ring with significant flaws or handicaps, but going into at least the two fights against De La Hoya and Hatton, there were many who were not backing Pacquiao as they now may claim. But there is one thing most fans and pundits do agree on: Miguel Cotto— because of his size, experience, and iron will to win—represents the biggest threat Pacquiao has yet faced. Should he steamroll past Cotto, those of us still a bit unwilling to allow Manny entry into the hallowed pugilistic ground where all-time greats like Henry Armstrong reside will punch his ittance ticket with a mixture of enthusiasm, reverence, and awe. So where does that leave Miguel Cotto, the itted B side to what truly is a double-A-sided promotion? Well, according to Pacquiao’s trainer, Freddie Roach, Cotto is indeed Manny’s most formidable foe. In fact, Roach is predicting a distance fight that would indicate a healthy respect for Cotto’s strength, punching power, and chin. Cotto also went into training camp much earlier than he usually does. The Puerto Rican superstar knows that this is an opportunity to not only establish his reputation as one of the best fighters of his era once and for all but also, should he win, to exorcise all the nagging whispers that his now-controversial loss to Antonio Margarito ruined him. And don’t think for a moment that Cotto isn’t sick to death of even the mention of that eleventh-round TKO loss, or Margarito’s name for that matter. His laconic personality aside, within Miguel Cotto burns a fierce pride that, perhaps, manifested itself on his skin in the form of multiple tattoos when he reemerged from that loss. The body art was intended to reflect his fiery warrior spirit—a facet of his personality buried beneath a genuinely shy, brooding persona. Whether that’s a facile interpretation of Cotto’s sudden fascination with tattooing, it was a somewhat-shocking physical transformation, and Cotto acknowledged, albeit reticently, that he did suffer emotionally in the months after the loss to Margarito. When it was revealed that Margarito had loaded his gloves prior to his bout with Sugar Shane Mosley before being caught, the implication was that he or his trainer had done the same thing before his bout with Cotto. It is more than plausible considering how brutalized Cotto’s face became as the rounds wore on.

That revelation seemed to relieve some of the anguish over the defeat. He further embraced the idea of improving his English-speaking skills to further his connection with American audiences, something Puerto Rican icon Felix Trinidad refused to do, and then one tattoo appeared after another, as if he was trying to completely distance himself physically and mentally from that brutal July night in 2008 in Las Vegas. Then came his ring return against lightly regarded Michael Jennings. Cotto took him out in the fifth round with clinical precision. The fight really didn’t prove much because of the level of opposition, but it was the necessary exhale after months of holding his breath before swapping leather again. After shaking off the ghost of Margarito with an easy touch, he faced the rugged Joshua Clottey this past June. Cotto’s twelve-round split-decision victory immediately split opinion of his current state right down the middle. Some saw the tightly contested match as an indicator of slippage—that the one brutal defeat against Margarito had robbed him of his prime and left him as damaged goods. Others saw his spirited effort, battling a wily veteran through a hideous cut over his left eye from the third round on, as proof that his resolve, talent, and skill set remain unaffected. The final analysis should read that he simply took on yet another tough foe and found a way to win when adversity could have crippled him. That’s what true champions do, and once again Miguel Cotto had his gloved fist raised in triumph when all was said and done. Yet still, the critics quibbled, and Pacquiao, sitting ringside that night at Madison Square Garden, leaned over to Bob Arum, who was sitting next to him, and said, “I want him next.” With both fighters promoted by Arum’s Top Rank, a superfight was quickly born. Whom you like depends on how you approach the basic questions regarding both men. Cotto is the strongest and biggest fighter Pacquiao has yet faced. Pacquiao is the fastest and best fighter Cotto has ever faced (apologies to Shane Mosley). Can Cotto deal with that demon speed, where wicked combinations become even more devastating because of that lightning-quick deliver? Can Pacquiao, the smaller man, deal with Cotto’s sometimes-roughhousing tactics and his vastly

underrated jab, which could completely disrupt his rhythm? Will size and weight finally catch up to Pacquiao, who began his career at 106 pounds, or will Cotto, slower of hand and foot, become frustrated trying to find his speedier opponent? Or will Cotto and Pacquiao, both fighting for the people of their respective homelands of Puerto Rico and the Philippines, simply march across the ring at the opening bell like Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns did in 1985, dispense with technique, and swing for the fences? It could happen if their faceto-face sit-down with Max Kellerman in an HBO promotional video is any indicator. When posed that very question about a Hagler-Hearns type of shootout, the two fighters eyed each other and smiled. “You never know,” Cotto said. “You have to wait until that bell rings.” Pacquiao seemed almost giddy at the prospect of a firefight, smiling and nodding in Cotto’s direction. “What people want is a good fight,” he replied, measuring his words in his slightly broken English. “More action. A good fight.” Cotto then leaned back and said, “People talk about fights between Leonard and Duran, Hagler and Hearns. I know with this fight, people are going to this fight for many years.” As both men have been in several fight-of-the-year candidates, that bit of insight into their mind-set should bring a smile to the face of every boxing fan. In spite of the vast array of their skills, Manny Pacquiao and Miguel Cotto love to fight, and at some point, one of them is going to land a haymaker, and the other will either fall or bang his gloves together, and the slugfest will be on. According to Miguel Cotto, when that happens, the fans will leap out of their seats and be witness to something very special. “The only winner is going to be the fans because they’re going to see a really good fight.” With a nod and a smile, Pacquiao shook Cotto’s hand, and the two men, remarkably civil when you consider what they plan to do to the other, walked off the set to continue their training. The rest of us wait in anticipation for the opening bell for what very well could turn out to be the most exciting fight of the year.

Note: In an exciting fight, Pacquiao stopped Cotto in the twelfth round.

NOT KNOWING WHEN TO QUIT

Watching a great athlete slowly fall apart at the seams is heartbreaking for any fan. Sometimes, the weary old warrior can resurrect the glories of his past, if only for a brief moment, leading him and his fans to delude themselves into thinking he is all the way back. But he’s not. He is simply putting off the inevitable through sheer force of will and, perhaps, an inability to satisfy his own inflated ego. Boston Celtics fans still shake their heads sadly at the image of a bruised and battered Larry Bird lying down by the bench on the parquet floor, trying in vain to relieve the pain in his aching back toward the end of his career. Bird, by his own ission, played on longer than he should have in hopes of meeting his archrival Magic Johnson and the Los Angeles Lakers one more time for the NBA championship. It never happened, and Bird openly worried that the further physical damage he had done to himself would leave him crippled in middle age. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, but it could have. His fierce competitiveness and love for the game blinded his better judgment. But all is well for the Hick from French Lick. Boxing rarely sees its broken-down heroes sail off happily into the sunset. Its history is littered with fighters great and small suffering mightily for their art. The parade of aging boxers—their reflexes slowed and their minds a bit less sharp—continuing to fight on when every indication should lead them to hang up the gloves is endless. And it continues marching on. Some young, up-and-coming boxers insist they will retire before thirty, and sometimes we believe them. Unfortunately, for many elite fighters, boxing is all they know. It defines who they are, and the idea of carrying on outside the ropes, just outside the gym for that matter, is an existence too difficult and lonely to bear.

The list of personal favorites who continued to take punches even with all the requisite evidence that it was over includes Muhammad Ali, Matthew Saad Muhammad, Bobby Chacon, Thomas Hearns, and Evander Holyfield. Now Erik Morales, a certain first-ballot Hall of Famer and a fighter who engaged in one brutally thrilling fight after another, has ed that list by engaging in a comeback that began in March of this year. There are several images of Erik Morales that his fans hold dear. The most common is of him boxing effectively, then getting hit and hurt and suddenly fighting back as if his pride had been stung, pounding his chest in defiance or thumping his gloved fists together, goading his opponent to try and hit him again. That blatant machismo was exhilarating to witness. It made him not only a hero in his native Mexico, particularly on the mean streets of his hometown of Tijuana, but must-see TV for American audiences. You were never hesitant in paying to see Morales fight because you knew something dramatic was going to happen. Much like Thomas Hearns, Morales was a fighter determined not only to win, but he also fought to please his fans. He did so, again like Hearns, often to his own detriment. So desperate was his desire to entertain that he would willingly put himself in harm’s way when it was completely unnecessary. How else to explain his switching to southpaw in the final rounds of his first match with Manny Pacquiao? It was a fight he had in control, but that warrior spirit and entertainer in him demanded he beat his southpaw opponent at his own game. It almost got him knocked out in the final round, but it made the bout even more thrilling than it already was. It was as if he said to himself, “I’m going to give this guy one last chance to take me out. And if he does, so be it.” That last great effort came only months after his grueling third fight against Mexican rival Marco Antonio Barrera. It seemed Morales was in one fight-ofthe-year candidate after another, and you always wondered, how long can this guy last? After taking a unanimous decision over Pacquiao, the last time the Pac-Man has lost a fight, a weary but proud Morales smiled knowingly at HBO commentator Larry Merchant. “You really liked to stand toe-to-toe with him in the twelfth round even if you

thought you had won the fight, didn’t you?” Merchant asked. “Did you like that?” Morales returned. Merchant smiled and nodded. “I loved it!” That conversation neatly encapsulated both Erik’s fistic style and his entire professional career. It also speaks to his rapid descent after that one last great performance. He would go on to lose his next four bouts, including two brutal knockouts at the hands of Pacquiao. After a spirited but losing effort against then—WBC lightweight champion David Diaz, the proud Mexican fighter walked away from the sport for over two years. His longtime promoter, Bob Arum, expressed relief and even said that should Morales continue to fight on, he would do so without the help of Top Rank, which had promoted most of his professional career. Arum, who once famously said, “I was lying yesterday, but I’m telling the truth today,” seemed genuine in his concern for the fighter, and his feelings resonated with many boxing insiders and fans. Erik’s legs appeared shot, and his oncegranite chin had fissures running all through it. Where he once sneered at an opponent’s punches, he now wobbled. The third-round-knockout loss to Pacquiao in their rubber match was particularly disturbing. Much like an overwhelmed Alexis Arguello in his rematch with Aaron Pryor, Morales, beaten from pillar to post, crumpled to the canvas and allowed himself to be counted out. It was sad to watch, considering how much he had given to the sport. But that’s usually how aggressive, heart-on-theirsleeve-type fighters end up—beaten down by a faster, younger version of their very selves. Now, after one hundred and seventeen amateur bouts and fifty-five professional battles, Morales is attempting a comeback. Even though he’s only thirty-three years old, it’s a very old thirty-three in relation to all the wear and tear his body has gone through in all those bouts. According to Morales, he wants to fight four or five more times and has even called out Pacquiao for a fourth go-round. That declaration is indicative of just how delusional El Terrible is—or it is nothing but ego and that desperate need for the applause of an adoring crowd.

Still, it’s his choice, and if we have learned anything from, say, Evander Holyfield, it is that a fighter’s heart and desire never truly leave even when everything else that once made them great has abandoned them. It’s a sad, endlessly repeated situation, and one can only hope that all the residual damage Erik Morales has suffered won’t come back to cripple him in later years. But the last thing this great champion needs is more punches to the head or another loss to a fighter he would have schooled years ago on his ledger. Unfortunately, that’s probably what will happen, and Morales will be just another participant in the ongoing parade of boxers fighting on long past their expiration date.

MORALES LEAVES US BREATHLESS

I suppose I owe something of an apology to Erik Morales. After all, what I thought would be my last article about him, until his Hall of Fame induction, all but begged him to retire. There were reasons for that, of course. One, he had lost four consecutive fights after what I thought was his last great effort—his unanimous-decision victory over Manny Pacquiao in 2006. Two, he had complained of headaches after those losses and itted that he felt the effects of blows to the head and body like he never had before. And three, simply put, he had always been a personal favorite whose career I had followed and written about ever since I first saw the skinny kid from Tijuana bang his gloved fists together in anticipation of the opening bell. I didn’t want to see yet another great fighter beaten senseless by opponents he would have toyed with in his prime. We’ve all seen that movie one too many times. So it was with apprehension that I awaited the opening round for his seemingly ill-advised bout against the murderous puncher Marcos Maidana on Saturday night. But just like the days of old, when I would drink Corona beer in his honor whenever Morales entered the ring (and I don’t even like Corona), I found myself leaping out of my chair in exultation as the old warrior refused to fade away and took the overwhelming favorite into the depths of hell. Although he didn’t get the victory, he won the night, and sometimes that means just as much. Watching Morales deftly dip and dodge Maidana’s wide-swinging power punches, all the while suffering through a right eye that had closed shut in the very first round, was a reminder that El Terrible wasn’t just a blood-and-guts warrior in his prime but also a skilled boxer with superior technique. But what made Morales such a fan favorite was that whenever he did get hit, it seemed to ignite a fire in him that tossed technique out the window. Simply put, Morales has always loved to throw down and prove his machismo, and he did plenty of that against Maidana. But what was most astonishing about this performance wasn’t the long, stiff jab that kept Maidana off-balance and stunned him a few times or that straight right

hand down the pike that has always been Erik’s best punch; no, it was his ability to absorb Maidana’s best shots without ever wavering. At thirty-four, fighting in a division way above what he weighed in his fistic prime and taking everything the hardest puncher at 140 pounds could bang against his body and head was just remarkable. It spoke of his grit, his determination, his will, and his pride. When asked how he was able to produce such a valiant effort despite the terrible injury to his right eye, Morales smiled and replied matter-of-factly, “I have something called dignity and heart.” To which his ers in the crowd endorsed with raucous applause. Morales didn’t need this unexpected effort to cement his place in the boxing Hall of Fame at Canastota. He staked his claim years ago. But what a topper to a great career it was. Maidana, to his great credit, offered Morales a rematch, and knowing Erik, if he can’t secure a bout with one of the other 140-pound belt holders in order to win a fourth title in as many divisions, he will gladly step back into the ring for another go-round with a fighter not many other junior welterweights care to engage. The fight was fought with such intensity, on both sides, that a rematch is really a nobrainer. There is also the possibility of a fourth fight with Marco Antonio Barrera or a grudge match against Juan Manuel Marquez. Still, I would rather see this great champion call it a day. However, I won’t begrudge him that insatiable desire he harbors to prove his brilliance all over again. He’s earned the right to do whatever he wants, and I will follow him to the bitter end because that’s how it must end for Erik Morales. It’s obvious that the only way he will cut off the gloves and surrender to retirement is when he is carried out on his shield. That’s who Erik Morales is. That’s why his fans adore him, and that is why he has produced such an exciting, glorious, blood-soaked career.

Note: Morales would go on to win the WBC light welterweight title before losing twice to Danny Garcia.

FIGHTS OF THE DECADE: MORALES-PACQUIAO I

When creating a list of the best fights of the decade, there are usually two or three front-runners for the top position. This past decade, one would have to point to four particular bouts that exceeded all expectations: Marco Antonio Barrera—Erik Morales 1 (2000), Arturo Gatti—Micky Ward 1 (2002), Jose Luis Castillo—Diego Corrales 1 (2005), and Israel Vazquez—Rafael Marquez 3 (2008). But as a fight fan, sometimes your heart sways your opinion, and that was the case for me as this decade comes to a close. The four aforementioned battles were, for the most part, better overall fights than my favorite, but the 2005 first meeting between Erik Morales and Manny Pacquiao had all the tension, drama, and violence necessary to at least be included in that “best of” list. Plus, for me, it pitted my personal favorite fighter, Morales, against a fighter who would supplant that position as time wore on, Pacquiao. The buildup to the fight was enticing. You had two highly skilled but flawed fighters who consistently provided megatough action in nearly every bout they participated in. Morales had already been in two acknowledged Fights of the Year—the first and third of his epic trilogy with Barrera. In fact, that third brutal bout with his archnemesis, which he lost by a point, came only four months prior to his first go-round with Pacquiao. Initially, a rematch between Pacquiao and Juan Manuel Marquez of their first dramatic bout (another deserving candidate), which ended in a draw, was being negotiated. When that fell apart over money squabbles, Morales, still smarting from that majority-decision loss to Barrera, jumped into the mix. Pacquiao was surging going into the fight. He was not nearly the fighting machine he is now, the trainer Freddie Roach was still tweaking and enhancing, but he had destroyed Barrera and knocked Marquez down three times in the first round of their to-do ten months earlier.

So perfectly matched at that particular point in time were Morales and Pacquiao that before the opening bell, HBO’s Larry Merchant said, “Given the high expectations everyone has for this fight, it’s almost as if the loser will come out bigger than before.” The anticipated brawl was on almost immediately. A striking habit that both fighters share is an absolute unwillingness to be outdone in a two-fisted exchange. Both men resort to pounding their gloves together in defiance and leaping headlong into the fray. And that’s just what happened when Pacquiao caught Morales and sent him stumbling backward into the ropes. Yet just as you thought you were about to see a replay of Pacquiao’s first-round blitzkrieg of Marquez, Morales jumped right on top of his attacker and drove him back and almost through the ropes. The tone seemed set, and Pacquiao found a home for his left hook to the body, which would hurt Morales several times over the course of the bout. But Erik was a bit more seasoned at this point in their respective careers, and he had studied tapes of Manny’s bout with Marquez and noticed that a stiff jab and the ability to keep the fight in the center of the ring broke Pacquiao’s rhythm. On top of that, Erik, who had only suffered one dubious knockdown in his career (truly a slip against Barrera in the twelfth round of their first fight), had a cast-iron chin. His ability to take a punch and counter back immediately kept Pacquiao on guard. He didn’t rush in as he had against Barrera, whom he knocked out in the eleventh round, or Marquez. The intensity remained high with Morales boxing smartly, picking his spots, mixing it up when Pacquiao tagged him, and using a deliberate, educated jab to keep the Pac-Man at bay. Manny would land in spurts, particularly to the body, but there was a hint of frustration as Morales began to put rounds in the bank. Between rounds, trainer Freddie Roach cautioned Manny. “We’re not taking this guy lightly. Don’t play with him. When you get him on the ropes, take advantage of him.” In round five, a clash of heads tore open a gash over Pacquiao’s right eye. (The cut was ruled caused by a punch, but replays showed an accidental clash of heads.) Now Morales had a target, and Pacquiao, for the first time in years,

appeared uncomfortable and hesitant. “Manny didn’t deal well with the cut,” Roach itted later. As the bout wore on, Morales would continue to measure his man with the jab while Pacquiao tried to compose himself. In the tenth round, Manny had reestablished his rhythm as both men fell into each other’s punching range, pounding away furiously as the electrified crowd alternated chants between “Mexico!” and “Pacquiao!” With ten seconds left in the eleventh round, Morales, his machismo getting the better of him, switched to southpaw, daring his left-handed opponent to hit him. Without hesitation, Manny clocked Erik with a right hook to the side of the head. It was a curious, brazen move by the Mexican warrior—one his father/trainer immediately picked up on in the corner. “You’ve got the fight in the bag!” he screamed. “Please don’t get overconfident! Be careful!” But being careful is something Erik Morales has either never understood or simply refuses to entertain. And that refusal to play it safe is what made him so compelling to watch. The twelfth round was one of those time-capsule three minutes of fistic brutality. Both men were exhausted yet swinging for the knockout punch. The crowd was on its feet, and then, with two minutes remaining, Morales stepped back and switched to southpaw yet again, leaving himself wide open for Pacquiao’s straight left hand. And Manny wasted no time in crashing left hands onto Erik’s jaw, wobbling him all over the ring. But Morales refused to switch back to an orthodox stance. It was as if he were saying to Pacquiao, “Go ahead! I’m going to give you a chance! Come on, try and knock me out!” With the fight all but won, Morales went to war with Pacquiao for two straight minutes of hell, eating power punch after power punch and giving no quarter. As the two men swapped blows until the final bell, a nearly hoarse, appreciative Jim Lampley barked into his HBO microphone, “There is nowhere else in sport

where you will find greater ion, greater courage, greater commitment, greater sheer guts than what these two guys are showing. This is boxing at its best!” When the decision was announced, all three judges scored the bout 115-113 for Morales. After the fight, a stunned but composed Manny Pacquiao said that he would fight Morales again, “anytime, anywhere.” He would in fact get that opportunity twice. With his skills more refined in both return bouts, he would stop Morales in the tenth round of their memorable rematch and then destroy him in three rounds in the rubber match. For Morales, this would be his final great performance before seemingly all the ring wars he had suffered through caught up with him. Battle scarred and often weight-drained, he would lose his next four bouts before a two-year layoff. In a recent comeback against marginal opposition in Mexico, he’s collected two victories. But on the night of March 19, 2005, Morales literally left it all in the ring. All his best traits were on display—boxing ability, an insatiable urge to brawl, that sometimes-misguided Mexican machismo, a rock-solid chin, and a fiery will to win. As Larry Merchant stood beside him in the aftermath of that great fight, Morales, exhausted but elated, sucked on a water bottle and then turned to face his inquisitor. His beak-like nose—a fighter’s nose, the nose Pacquiao would nearly smash to bits in their rematch—was his most striking feature. “You really liked to stand toe-to-toe with him in the twelfth round even if you thought you won the fight, didn’t you?” he asked. A smiling Morales returned, “Did you like that?” Merchant nodded. “I loved it.” We all did.

WILLIAMS-MARTINEZ: BAD JUDGE, GOOD FIGHT

It was a very good fight, bordering on great, between two highly skilled professionals whose seesaw battle shed light on why neither of them are high on any fighter’s to-do list. Paul Williams and Sergio Martinez tested one another over twelve fascinating, sometimes-explosive rounds, and when the final bell rang, one was left to wonder just how close the judges’ scorecards would be. A draw was not inconceivable. Each round was evenly contested, including the sensational first stanza that saw both fighters hit the canvas. Williams, as is his wont, tried to overwhelm Martinez with an endless array of punches on the inside and out. It still seems peculiar for such a tall, lanky guy with an eighty-two-inch wingspan to fight so comfortably on the inside. Martinez, a crafty and quick southpaw, first found a home for his overhand right, and then, as Williams adjusted midbout and appeared to have solved Sergio’s riddle, Martinez adjusted and began banging Paul with crisp left hands. It was so close that the HBO broadcasting team, perhaps subconsciously anticipating some kind of controversy should the bout go to the scorecards, began offering the caveat, “It all depends on what style you like.” But this was not simply one guy pressing and the other guy speeding about the ring in a defensive posture. These were two men testing each other in the trenches, backing off, going to plan B, engaging again, staring at each other in disbelief at the other’s unbreakable will, and then going for broke as the final bell approached. This was high drama—the type of fight boxing junkies live for. The crowd may have numbered just under three thousand at Boardwalk Hall’s Adrian Phillips Ballroom in Atlantic City, but the battle Martinez and Williams

put on for them brought them to their feet in raucous celebration of sport conducted at its highest level. And then came the judges’ scorecards. Julie Lederman, daughter of HBO’s unofficial scorer Harold Lederman, scored it a draw at 114-114. Lynne Carter had it at 115-113 for Williams. “Judge” Pierre Benoist scored it 119-110 for Williams. 119-110? That meant “Judge” Benoist gave Martinez one round. When Benoist’s scorecard was read, the look on Martinez’s face was a mixture of shock and mock-comic indignation. The still-buzzing crowd, so loud in appreciation for both fighters, booed with near bloodlust for the one individual who put a damper on what had been a great night at the fights. The right guy arguably got the decision, although a strong case could certainly be made for Martinez or the aforementioned stalemate. But Benoist’s verdict is more than troublesome—it has become pandemic in the sport. Bad judging, always a nuisance in boxing, has become rampant as of late. “Either he’s incompetent, or worse,” said Martinez’s promoter, Lou DiBella. “There’s no explanation for that score.” Martinez, a more gregarious fellow you could not meet, was certainly put off by the score but seemed to be none too surprised that another misguided judge tallied a scorecard while either blind drunk or sitting with his chair facing the crowd rather than the ring. The idea that he simply preferred Williams’s style over Martinez’s and had to bend over backward to give Sergio even one round is ludicrous. Hopefully, we won’t ever have to hear his excuse for his verdict as he resides comfortably in exile from here on out with all the other of the boxing judges’ lunatic fringe.

“It was an error,” Martinez said of the scorecard through his interpreter. “We should have a rematch.” Not a bad idea. But Williams’s promoter, Dan Goossen, will certainly lobby for a bigger name rather than risk another go-round with the supremely talented but flying-underthe-radar Sergio Martinez. “It’s too soon to talk about what’s next,” Goossen told ESPN’s Dan Rafael. “But two guys we’ve been chasing for a year and a half are Shane Mosley and Bernard Hopkins.” That might be wishful thinking on Goossen’s part. Neither Hopkins nor Mosley have shown any interest in facing Williams, who, despite his elite status, doesn’t bring a huge fan base to the negotiating table. The money just won’t be there for either Hopkins or Mosley to take the chance against such a dangerous opponent. “I don’t look for easy fights,” Williams insisted in the ring after the toughest fight of his career. “I had to switch training for a right-hander for a left-hander only a few weeks ago.” Williams was alluding to his aborted bout with middleweight champion Kelly Pavlik that was called off twice because of a staph infection on Pavlik’s left hand. “We can do it again,” he added sincerely. In the end, it won’t be up to Williams. As frustrating as it often is for boxing fans to hear fighters constantly deferring to their managers and promoters in regard to their futures, it is just business. It always comes down to money and, if possible, the least amount of risk. In the case of Paul Williams and Sergio Martinez, the opposite rings true. They want the big money, just like anyone else, but find themselves on the outside looking in because they are very good—perhaps too good for their own good. Still, as word of mouth spreads as to how exciting this fight was and the uncomfortable reality that both Williams and Martinez present endless problems for any fighter out there, they may eventually have no one else to turn to but

each other. That’s one helluva consolation prize for boxing fans, if not for the two combatants themselves. As time goes by, these two terrific fighters may actually need each other. Boxing fans were hoping for a rematch before and after the decision was announced. But, should it happen, let’s just keep one Pierre Benoist out of the mix. His services are no longer required—anywhere.

Note: Martinez would go on to beat Kelly Pavlik for the middleweight title and then stop Williams in the second round of their rematch with one punch. Sadly, Williams was later paralyzed from the waist down after a motorcycle accident.

DONAIRE CONTINUES LIGHTER-WEIGHT TRADITION

It was a left hand reminiscent of the one Manny Pacquiao launched that exploded on Ricky Hatton’s chin back in 2009. The comparison is appropriate because Nonito Donaire’s second-round blowout of Fernando Montiel at the Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino thrilled and chilled a boxing public actively searching for new stars to brighten the pugilistic skyline. The fact that Donaire is of Filipino descent and beginning to ride along the wave of the Pac-Man’s enormous popularity marks him as the heir apparent. In the wake of Donaire’s stunning performance, comparisons with Pacquiao’s own explosive, crowd-pleasing style were inevitable. Couple that with Donaire’s charming, well-spoken personality, and it seems everyone can agree—we’ve got a potential superstar on our hands. As the aging elite continue to get closer and closer to that moment when their primes will suddenly them by, the need for new young stars to supplant them is of the utmost importance for boxing’s livelihood. Fighters like Pacquiao, Floyd Mayweather (who seems to be semiretired anyway), Juan Manuel Marquez, and even the surging Sergio Martinez (who checks in at thirty-seven years old) are ostensibly on the backside of their brilliant careers. Boxing needs new talent like Donaire to not only keep it relevant but also exciting enough to entice new fans to a sport often maligned because of the lack of a superstar heavyweight. Fortunately, there always seems to be a wealth of talent in the lighter-weight divisions. Forget the know-nothing sportswriters who assume that so goes the heavyweight division, so goes boxing. Knowledgeable fans of the sport know that its heart beats most ferociously in the lighter-weight classes. Speed, technique, virtuosity, courage, and determination are not often words used to describe the behemoths of boxing. But dip down to middleweight and below, and in every generation, you will find gold.

With his amazing showing against the highly talented and accomplished bantamweight champion Montiel, junior bantamweight Donaire has stepped into a glorified realm inhabited not only by his idol Pacquiao but such recent great lighter-weight fighters like Erik Morales, Marco Antonio Barrera, Juan and Rafael Marquez, and Israel Vazquez—to name a few. The list goes on and on throughout the years, so it was fitting that Donaire furthered his reputation in the same ring where, eleven years to the day, Morales and Barrera met in their first all-time-classic war. We didn’t get a back-and-forth slugfest in Donaire-Montiel, but we did get an emphatic ending, and sometimes that’s just as good. It was also fascinating to watch Donaire lure Montiel closer and closer to him so he could drop the big bomb right on target. In fact, initially, it looked as though Fernando was regaining his poise after losing the first round. But Donaire, his ring experience now enlightening his boxing IQ, knew exactly what he was doing. “That second round, he was looking to take advantage,” he explained in the ring after the knockout. “I wanted to see where his body was going to be. I knew where he was going to be at. I timed him. You have to take some in order for you to gain some knowledge. I knew when the time came my punch was going to land.” Once it did, the fight was basically over. Although referee Russell Mora let it go on for a few more seconds after Montiel somehow willed himself to stand up on trembling legs. That gallant, instinctive effort to defend what was his was almost as astonishing as Donaire’s dominance. Donaire, who currently resides in San Leandro, California, would later laud his countryman Pacquiao in the ring. “I believe Manny Pacquiao has given me this opportunity,” he said with affection. “I’m happy being number two.” Donaire’s immediate future is up in the air. After beating Montiel, he said he would like to become the undisputed bantamweight champion, which would mean he would have to face off against the winner of the April 23 matchup between Abner Mares and Joseph Agbeko. Unfortunately, neither of those boxers fight for Top Rank, Donaire’s promoter. Bob Arum and Top Rank, as of late, seem content to keep their fighters working in-house, so a fight with Mares,

who is with Golden Boy Promotions, or Agbeko, who is with Don King, might just not be feasible at the moment. This nonsense between rival promoters, in particular Top Rank and Golden Boy, continues to deprive boxing fans of some of the best matchups the sport has to offer. It’s pathetic. A move up to 122 pounds looks to be more likely, but time will tell. One thing that does seem certain is that the Filipino Flash will not sit on this victory. He wants to fight and as soon as possible. “I want to be undisputed in this weight class, but if that doesn’t happen, I put trust and faith in Cameron Dunkin [manager]. If that’s 122, let’s go. If that’s 126, let’s go. I think that keeps me moving. It makes me the best I can be.” So here we have a brilliant young fighter, and an exciting one to watch, willing to fight anyone in order to be the best. Good for him. And even better, it’s great for the sport and great for the fans.

BERNARD HOPKINS CONTINUES TO ADD TO HIS LEGACY

When will it all end for Bernard Hopkins? His extraordinary professional career has stretched on for twenty-three years, and although there have been losses—both controversial and spot-on—along with some uneven and tentative performances bordering on the tedious, he continues to persevere. And like many great, aging fighters, as he loses a bit of speed in his step, he finds himself forced to fight with more grit and heart than near-unmatched technique, making him more compelling to watch. Hopkins’s career hit its apex all the way back in 2001 when he faced off against heavily favored Felix Trinidad at Madison Square Garden for the undisputed middleweight title. That night, he schooled a fighter who had captured the boxing public’s imagination with his punching power and undeniable charisma. Trinidad wasn’t just supposed to win—he was supposed to win easily. So easily in fact that rumor had it that promoter Don King, perhaps in collusion with HBO (never a friend to Hopkins), had already engraved his name on the Sugar Ray Robinson trophy to be awarded to the winner of this final matchup in that celebrated middleweight tournament. Well, Hopkins had waited years for that special night on the grand stage to prove his brilliance to the masses. He was determined to become the Marvelous Marvin Hagler of his era, and on that night—just weeks after the tragedy of 9/11, he fought the perfect fight and ruined the plans of all those who had assumed he would fall after Trinidad connected with one of his thunderous left hooks. The boxing establishment, concerned with long-term contracts and crossoverstar appeal, simply didn’t want a Hopkins victory. It didn’t want the snarling, confrontational, former prison inmate as a flagship fighter for the sport. It wanted the smiling, gregarious Trinidad or the corporate Golden Boy, Oscar De La Hoya, or the flashy and gentlemanly Sugar Man, Shane Mosley. It speaks to how loathed this rogue character was that HBO later built up and heavily hyped his heir apparent, Jermain Taylor, at Hopkins’s expense. The two would fight

twice—with Taylor winning two hotly disputed decisions. Those two wins by Taylor were supposed to usher in a new boxing era. But Hopkins was having none of it. He felt he had won those two fights, and his bitterness, mirroring much of what Hagler had gone through, only made him meaner and more focused. Taylor, despite his unquestionable heart, never matured into the fighter many had hoped for. One of the main reasons being he had none of Hopkins in-betweenfight resolve. He was not a gym rat, gorged himself on junk food, and never mastered his craft as Hopkins did over years of torturous physical workouts. Hopkins simply refused to go away. And somehow, with age, he got better, trickier, and became a pure technician in the ring. Unfortunately, that brilliant technical prowess also reduced many of his bouts into mundane affairs. So he would never be quite the fan favorite as the aforementioned Trinidad, De La Hoya, and Mosley—despite conclusively knocking out both Tito and Oscar. And yet he may well be the preeminent fighter of his generation. Fans of Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather will scoff at that notion, but one only has to look at their respective accomplishments and opponents faced alongside Hopkins’s record to realize just how truly remarkable the Executioner’s career has been. His twenty successful middleweight title defenses against the likes of John David Jackson, Glen Johnson, Antwun Echols, William Joppy, Trinidad, and De La Hoya is a record that will probably never be broken. At light heavyweight, he has turned back the challenges of Antonio Tarver, Winky Wright, Kelly Pavlik, and Roy Jones, and he most recently took the WBC strap away from Jean Pascal to become the oldest fighter in boxing history to win a championship. And he did so in highly entertaining fashion. Dubious decision losses to Taylor and Joe Calzaghe only further enhance the scope of his accomplishments when one considers just how disputed those losses really were. In fact, should Hopkins defeat the highly touted Chad Dawson in his first defense of that newly acquired light heavyweight belt on October 15 at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, Bernard Hopkins, at forty-six years of age, should be the front-runner for Fighter of the Year honors for 2011. He’s won the

award once before—ten years ago in 2001. The only glitch in this bout is that because of their styles, both are economical punchers and lean heavily toward defensive posturing. This has all the earmarks of a slow, deliberate chess match. And that is where Hopkins has not ingratiated himself with that section of the boxing public that craves blood, guts, and action—and an overwhelming section it is. But should Hopkins fight in the manner he did against Pascal in their 2011 rematch, aggressive and willing to trade shots, and deliberately pull Dawson out of his comfort zone, the fight might just exceed its rather low expectations. Bernard recently addressed his recent pleasing style with HBO’s Jim Lampley. When asked, “Why are you fighting more offensively now?” Hopkins replied, with a sly smile, “The fans seem to like it more than ducking.” If he wins, in whatever fashion, it will be yet another jewel in a crown he has worn on and off for nearly fifteen years. The stats are astonishing. The complete professionalism in the ring, albeit sometimes marginalized by questionable verbal antics outside it (usually spouted in order to enhance promotion), is lauded in every corner. And his willingness to step into the ring against younger, stronger, and supposedly hungrier fighters as an underdog and often making those opponents look foolish is a testament to his ongoing greatness. Bernard Hopkins won’t be around forever, although that’s been said about him every year for the past ten years, so boxing fans should embrace this lingering member of the old guard while they can. His personal story, filled with rage and redemption, is utterly compelling, and his remarkable career will not only land him in the International Boxing Hall of Fame but will place him high atop any respectable list of the greatest pugilists of all time. And because Hopkins has never sustained a prolonged beating inside the ropes and remains mentally sharp, witty, and opinionated, in time, he could become the retired elder statesman of the sport we often miss out on. So many great fighters either leave the game physically and emotionally damaged that we never see them behind the microphone or leading a promotional junket tour. Hopkins seems a perfect fit, and he looks great in a designer suit or tuxedo.

Whatever happens against Dawson or possible future opponents, don’t expect Bernard to simply fade away. He loves the sport too much, and he loves the camera and the ego-gratifying attention that comes with it. We’re lucky to have him, and if it took so many so long to appreciate just how lucky, at least the majority of the boxing public has finally come to that appropriate conclusion. Bernard Hopkins knew it all along; we just had to catch up with him.

Note: The Hopkins-Dawson fight was declared a no-contest after the second round when Hopkins injured his shoulder after Dawson threw him to the canvas. Dawson would win the rematch by majority decision.

FOREMAN’S COURAGE

SERVES HIM WELL

There is something truly inspiring when an athlete discovers the depths of his will and desire in the face of nearly insurmountable odds. For a boxer, that moment of truth usually comes with a great deal of pain. It’s what separates a pretender from the real thing. On Saturday night at Yankee Stadium, in front of nearly twenty-two thousand enthusiastic fans, Miguel Cotto stopped Yuri Foreman in the ninth round of an interesting bout with a few odd turns to make it even more memorable. But what happened in the seventh round elevated the stature of Foreman, a lighthitting junior middleweight belt holder with a safety-first style who has drawn heavy criticism from many throughout his career for not being more exciting. Foreman has eight knockouts in his twenty-nine-bout ledger, so shades of Paulie Malignaggi hung in the warm night air out in right field where the ring was set up. Malignaggi had fought Miguel Cotto at Madison Square Garden back in 2006. Paulie, with a scant five knockouts in his entire career, looked to be an easy mark for the then-surging Cotto. But something happened to Malignaggi as Cotto began to break him down and punish him over twelve brutal rounds—his heart took over when his skills proved futile. Despite a losing effort, Malignaggi gained a ton of respect from all the naysayers who had labeled him boring or soft. The same thing happened to Zab Judah, who fought Cotto at MSG in 2007. Judah was derided as a head case and a front-runner whose undeniable talent had been squandered by an inability to remain calm and focused in the ring. Judah took a frightful beating from Cotto over eleven rounds, but he never stopped trying. When referee Arthur Mercante Jr., also in the ring for Saturday’s fight, stopped the bout, he embraced Judah and called him champ. It was easily

Judah’s most gallant effort, and the loss helped reestablish his reputation (regardless of what came afterward). Yuri Foreman, whose rabbinical studies had become part of the fight’s marketing scheme, knew going in that his jab and, in particular, his lateral movement were his best weapons against the more accomplished and hard-punching Cotto. And for the first several rounds, that’s exactly how he fought—on the move. But he also planted his feet on occasion, finding a home for his straight right hand. It wasn’t a scintillating night of boxing under the New York sky, but it was fastpaced, and Cotto’s relentless pursuit of his prey kept it compelling. Then in the seventh round, Foreman pivoted as he backed toward the ropes, and his right knee, ed by a brace, gave out, and down he went. From that moment on, Foreman’s chances for victory went out the window. He wasn’t winning beforehand, but now he was lost. Yuri hobbled to a neutral corner as Arthur Mercante called a time-out. “Walk it off, champ,” Mercante said above the din of the crowd. “Suck it up, kid!” And that’s just what Foreman did. After a brief respite, the tough young fighter planted his right foot, desperately looking for leverage, and tried to fight back before his gimpy leg buckled yet again and sent him to the canvas. “You’re a game guy,” Mercante hollered as Foreman stumbled back into the fray. Game as anyone at this point, but Mercante, known for allowing fights to go on too long, should have advised the doctor to call a halt to the bout. Cotto, almost patient to a fault, began launching left hooks to the body as Foreman tried to hang on until the bell. Foreman, telling his corner he wanted to continue, had discovered the fighter inside of himself. His pride lifted him off his stool and sent him out for more punishment in the eighth round. At the midpoint of the round, a white towel—tossed into the ring by Foreman’s trainer, Joe Grier—signaled an end to what had been a gutsy effort. But Mercante, who had no idea who had thrown in the towel, waved the surrender

off and cleared the ring. “The towel came in, and I felt it wasn’t necessary,” the referee explained. “I didn’t know then where it came from. There was no need to stop the fight. I felt I did the right thing.” It was a bizarre scenario, but the fight indeed went on—much to the delight of the crowd that, although pro-Cotto, was now cheering Foreman’s fighting spirit. But Foreman’s heart could only take him so far. Unable to get out of Cotto’s range, he tried to load up on the right hand, but the power just wasn’t there. Before the ninth round, trainer Grier hesitated before saying, “If you’re not gonna move, if you’re gonna be in front of him…” “I just can’t!” Foreman replied. The ending came quickly—from a vicious left hook to the liver. With one leg already dead beneath him, the hook crippled the other, and the fight was over. The result signaled something of a rebirth for Cotto. His long, exciting career will include at least one more big fight somewhere down the line. Foreman’s future is more difficult to predict. However, his performance on this night earned him a red badge of courage, and sometimes, in the eyes of many, that is more important than whether his record shows a win or a loss. “Thank God for keeping both of us healthy, more or less,” he said in the ring after the stoppage. “It was a lot of pain, a very sharp pain. I couldn’t do a lot of movement.” HBO’s Max Kellerman, duly impressed with Foreman’s courageous showing, asked, “Oftentimes, in these situations, fighters use an injury like this to stop fighting. You continued to fight. Why?” With a smile, he replied, “Listen, I’m a world champion… now a former champion. We’re not quitting. We don’t just quit. We need to fight.” Foreman’s performance, along with the class he showed after suffering his first loss, was nothing short of inspiring. How often have we seen overpaid,

egomaniacal athletes crumble under pressure and adversity only to look for any excuse to cover up their shortcomings? Too often, it says here. That’s what makes Yuri Foreman’s effort at Yankee Stadium on Saturday night so worthy of the crowd’s applause. Yuri may never win another title belt. Or he may come out of this frustrating experience a better, grittier fighter; that all remains to be seen. But what he showed in the ring against Miguel Cotto this past weekend, ultimately, was much more important—he did his profession proud.

Note: Foreman would fight once more, losing by sixth-round stoppage to Pavel Wolak.

A BOXING SCRIBE’S NIGHT WITH THE UFC

In its infancy, the world of mixed martial arts that I would see late at night on ESPN held no interest for me. I found it to be slapdash and amateurish and subsequently ignored its refinement over the years. It wasn’t until my friend Cazie, a boxing fan, became enamored of the sport that I realized UFC president Dana White’s work in progress had come into its own and in turn became a legitimate form of sports entertainment. Whether that growth in professionalism and popularity has been detrimental to boxing is really a moot point—boxing has enough problems within its own ranks to lay blame at the UFC doorstep. From insipid sanctioning bodies, junior titles, mismatches, endless overpriced pay-per-views, and lack of free television exposure for up-and-coming fighters, boxing’s waning popularity in the mainstream is truly due to cancers within. UFC fans are as attuned to their fighters’ skill sets, which includes everything from wrestling techniques to jujitsu to classic power punchers, as boxing fans are to their fighters. Some of the more slightly nauseating moves, such as the arm bar—the bending back of the forearm at the elbow that, when locked in, most often leads to a tap out—are, in fairness, no less violent than, say, a perfectly placed right hand to the temple from a murderous puncher like Thomas Hearns. Unfortunately, for nonfans of the sport, many of the matches begin and end in grappling and jockeying for position. There are fighters more akin to straight-up fighting like Andrew Silva, the middleweight champion, whose style is referred to as a striker. But it is the fights that usually end up on the mat that turn off boxing fans who wave off the UFC as inconsequential. These matches can become as tedious as two defensive-minded boxers fencing each other for twelve rounds. But wrestling fans, as in college wrestling, enjoy the nuances going on when the battle reduces to the floor. Dana White monitors these bouts closely, and if he is disappointed or senses that the audience is disappointed, he has been known to punish the fighters by excluding them from future pay-per-view events. White’s

motto is basically “You don’t earn your money by providing excitement, then go back to the end of the line.” If only boxing could have done that with John Ruiz. Although there are several popular fighters, there does seem to be a dearth of talent in a sport defined by five weight classes—lightweight (155), welterweight (170), middleweight (185), light heavyweight (205), and heavyweight (265). How else to explain the recent pay-per-view that I watched between heavyweight king Randy Couture, 18-6, and his upstart challenger Brock Lesnar, a recent addition to the UFC fold who entered his first championship contest with a paltry record of 2-1? Still, the audience for the UFC isn’t interested in records, as many boxing fans remain. In boxing, the overestimation of an undefeated record has become a strangely important credential for fighters—particularly young up-and-comers. Most UFC fighters, from champions to contenders, have multiple losses on their record, but as long as they produce in the octagon, neither Dana White nor the fans could care less. I took in the Couture-Lesnar fight at Coop’s Bar & Grille, a local establishment in Quincy, Massachusetts, with my friend Cazie. Coop’s runs all the UFC payper-views and Spike TV’s free bouts on multiple flat-screen televisions, and it has become a cash cow for the bar’s owner, Mario Recupero. At ten o’clock, when the event started, Coop’s was filled to capacity. Many people were left out in the rain. So jazzed was this crowd for the fights that the majority of the near-dozen flat-screen televisions were switched from the Boston Bruins—New York Rangers game to the prefight interviews with the UFC combatants. As a huge Bruins fan, I found that almost sacrilegious, but so pumped up was this crowd that the hometown team became an afterthought. As the fights started, I found more enjoyment in watching the intense audience in the bar than the fights themselves. After watching a few of these cards with my friend at home, I can say, in the final analysis, that, well, I just don’t get it. But I can recognize a phenomenon when I see one. The UFC isn’t going anywhere, and its fan base, though primarily men eighteen to thirty-five, also includes many female fans just as intense in their love for the sport as their male counterparts.

Before I left Coop’s, I talked with Mario about these pay-per-view events and whether or not he ever shows boxing. “I could never get the crowd for a boxing show that I get for the UFC,” he answered with a shrug. “I pay an 875-dollar fee to show these fights and look at this place! I had to turn people away. And I’ve never had a problem with the crowd. Always well behaved. Loud but well behaved.” Mario went on to add, “Showing boxing just wouldn’t be cost-effective. I’d pay the same fee, but I’d be lucky to break even. The interest just isn’t there.” When I mentioned the Oscar De La Hoya—Manny Pacquiao fight in December, he just shook his head. “The interest, at least from my patrons, just isn’t there.” As the satiated crowd filed out, many people sought out Mario, asking when the next big show was. “November 22!” he bellowed. At the door, I asked a few of the UFC fans what they thought about boxing. The replies were all similar. “I don’t know any of the fighters.” “Who is the heavyweight champ?” One man said, “Boxing got boring when Mike Tyson lost it.” The Tyson remark was telling. I can back in the day what we called Tyson Parties. This was when Tyson was arguably the biggest sports star in the world—with the exception of Michael Jordan. Even the girlfriends, who mostly detested boxing, enjoyed Tyson Parties because they knew the fight would be over quickly, and in the process, they too got wrapped up in the quick, explosive violence that typified a Tyson bout when he was in his prime. Apparently, the axiom “so goes the heavyweight division, so goes boxing” holds uncomfortably true to many fans who have all but deserted boxing. Without a dominant, menacing, Tyson-like figure guiding the ship, fans such as those at Coop’s would rather watch the UFC.

In a recent conversation with Hooman Majd in Interview magazine, filmmaker James Toback reiterated that very point. Toback directed the documentary film Tyson, which has garnered excellent reviews and debuted at the 2008 Cannes Film Festival. “You know,” Majd says, “since Tyson—or maybe since Lennox Lewis—can anyone even name the heavyweight champion of the world? Unless you’re a real boxing fan?” Toback is brutally frank in his assessment. “No, boxing died with Tyson.” That is a heavy indictment of the sport and an obvious falsehood made by a man more intrigued by Mike Tyson’s story than boxing in general. Although Tyson represented a figure of iconic proportions, the fact is that boxing history dictates that the most exciting divisions are usually from featherweight to middleweight. But Toback’s point, as well as those of the UFC fans I spoke with, holds an uneasy truth. Without an intriguing big man, boxing suffers, and the sport has been without a notable defining presence at heavyweight for years. As I left Coop’s, my friend Cazie asked what I thought of the whole experience. Although I told him I still don’t completely enjoy the sport, I have a newfound respect for it and for Dana White’s expertise in presenting events that are stacked with undercard bouts designed to pump the crowd up into a frenzy before the main event. Compare that to boxing undercards, which are usually abysmal (the recent Joe Calzaghe—Roy Jones undercard was one of the worst in memory), and the UFC is at least ahead of the curve in that respect. As we were heading home, Cazie was waxing philosophical about deposed champion Couture, who lost his belt by second-round stoppage to the hulking Lesnar. I didn’t mention the Jermain Taylor—Jeff Lacy bout that I was taping on HBO. I don’t think he even would have been interested—a notion that made me rather sad after experiencing the energy of the crowd at the bar. The excitement I witnessed for this recent UFC show was not an anomaly. It was a microcosm of the ongoing popularity of the UFC and the indifference many -sports fans have for boxing. But true boxing fans are as ionate about their sport as any UFC fan or fans of any other sport for that matter. Still, despite dozens of great fights that have taken place in the past two years, even those true fans are waiting anxiously for some clarity in the heavyweight division.

Hopefully, that will come sooner rather than later, and boxing will regain a proper foothold in the mainstream. Perhaps even Coop’s will show boxing on Saturday nights.

Note: Despite its continuing popularity, the UFC may have peaked. Coop’s, for example, rarely shows UFC events anymore because of dwindling crowds.

MEET DANNY O’CONNOR

There is nothing quite like a gifted young fighter connecting on a visceral level with his hometown. Hero worship is prevalent in every sport, but boxing is such a personal and emotionally draining experience for fighter and fan that once a connection is made, it just grows tighter and tighter as the fighter’s career moves on. Every boxer desperately wants and needs that crowd approval, particularly in his darkest and most trying moments in the ring. Danny O’Connor, a promising young junior welterweight from Framingham, Massachusetts, understands this and has turned his life upside down to achieve his dream of becoming a world champion in front of an adoring crowd. “I was just a scrappy kid growing up, and I found my way to a gym one day and fell in love with the sport,” he said recently from his training camp at the Savannah Boxing Club in Houston, Texas. “As time has gone on and my career has progressed, I do believe I was given a great gift in my ability to fight, and I’m going to use that to provide for my family.” O’Connor’s amateur career culminated in 2008 with National Golden Glove honors, the Outstanding Boxer Award at the US Future Stars Championship, and a berth as an alternate on the US Olympic Team. A quick and clever southpaw, Danny, in seventeen professional fights, has tasted the sting of defeat—a decision loss to Gabriel Bracero in 2011. He was subsequently diagnosed with bleeding ulcers and anemia. Any setback is devastating for a young boxer trying to get his foot on that first rung of the ladder, but it’s how he deals with it that will ultimately define how far he goes. Future Hall of Famer Bernard Hopkins lost his first professional fight, but it didn’t cripple him because he didn’t let it. He became more determined to learn his craft and refused to allow doubt to creep into his mind. Again, O’Connor understands this, and despite boxing’s peculiar predilection for undefeated records, he sees his willingness to make adjustments in both his training and in his personal life—prime indicators that not only is he serious about his championship ambitions but that he is willing to make all the sacrifices

necessary to get there. It was at that low point against Bracero where a decision was made and a change in trainer and management pointed the fighter in a new, positive direction. But it also uprooted him from his wife and child and the comforts of home. “I had a bad night against Bracero,” he says. “The health issues were a big factor, and my nose was broken in the fight. I had to have reconstructive surgery.” O’Connor hesitates a moment upon reflecting back on that night and then his mood brightens. “It was at that point I found Ronnie Shields. He offered to train me, and so I left Boston for Houston with no money, nowhere to live, and worst of all, I had to leave my wife, Diane, and son, Liam. But it was the best move I made for my career.” The fit between fighter and trainer has been smooth, and Danny appears to have found a mentor in Shields. “Coach Ronnie gave me my life back,” he says with genuine affection. “He is truly a teacher, and being taught by him is an honor for me.” O’Connor’s career also received a huge boost when Ken Casey, leader of the rock band Dropkick Murphys, took over managerial duties. Danny believes that with the Murphys providing their , that often-elusive hometown connection is within his grasp in the Boston area. “I met Ken through his Claddagh Fund,* and we clicked right off the bat. I look at the way he beat the odds in the music business, and I hope to do the same in boxing.” Casey agrees and is hoping that O’Connor will bring back a level of excitement in the Massachusetts area not seen since Irish Micky Ward’s heyday. “I took a hands-on, do-it-yourself approach with the Murphys, and I see many similarities as to how Danny’s career could and should go. We want to bring boxing back to Boston.”

According to promoter Lou DiBella, “Danny is an easy kid to rally behind and has the charisma to develop a big following and have a very successful career.” As for O’Connor’s association with the Dropkick Murphys, DiBella is effusive in his praise for the work Ken Casey has done and the additional promotional tool the band provides. “They are not just a band but a phenomenon—a brand and excellent marketers and self-promoters. The Dropkick Murphys provide Danny’s career with a tremendous boost by introducing him to their loyal fans and followers.” DiBella then adds, with promotional flair, “If you are a young Irish fighter from New England, there is no band in the world that you would rather be associated with than the Dropkick Murphys.” O’Connor’s next bout is on the undercard of the Sergio Martinez—Matthew Macklin middleweight title fight on March 17 in New York. He is scheduled to fight Danny McDermott. “I’m looking forward to fighting at Madison Square Garden. Every boxer wants to fight at the Garden.” With his wife and child now moved down to Texas, Danny’s system is complete, and he feels rejuvenated. His aspirations high, O’Connor is now truly set to get to work on the most important part of his career—climbing the ranks toward a title shot. Residing in one of the most talent-laden divisions in boxing only seems to spur him on, and his enthusiasm is infectious. “Ken and I have a plan, and that is to bring boxing back to Boston. Together we are determined to make that happen. When you think of Boston sports like the Red Sox, Celtics, and Bruins, I want my name to be thought of as well. I want to make a major impact on the boxing scene this year while building my fan base.” With the recent additions to his camp and his newfound resolve, 2012 could be a breakout year for Danny O’Connor.

Note: The fight with McDermott would be cancelled due to injury. O’Connor would go on to defeat Daniel Sostre by fourth-round stoppage.

*To read more about Ken Casey’s Claddagh Fund, which s communitybased nonprofit organizations, please follow the link below. http://www.claddaghfund.org/cf/

PACQUIAO VERSUS MARQUEZ IV—OVERKILL?

When the announcement came that Manny Pacquiao will square off against Juan Manuel Marquez for a fourth time, there was certainly a sense of “been there, done that.” Despite the skill level, excitement, and controversy the first three bouts provided, you almost get the feeling that these two evenly matched fighters are tired of seeing the other in the opposite corner. But because of the rabid fan base both boxers enjoy and the money involved, December 8 at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas will be déjà vu. Fans of Marquez were probably laughing in their beer last June when Pacquiao lost by controversial decision to Timothy Bradley, ending a fifteen-bout winning streak. Karma came back to bite the Pac-Man if one believes, as a significant portion of boxing fans do, that Marquez should have been awarded the decision in at least two of their fights—if not all three. Losing to Bradley on points when it appeared he was way ahead also seemed to reinvigorate a disillusioned Marquez who hinted at retirement after dropping a close decision to Manny in their third go-round. “What do I have to do?” he lamented in his dressing room after the loss. His demeanor was one of a man weary of a sport that had yet again failed to reward him with the ultimate prize after he had given everything he had until there was nothing left. Despite the close nature of the contest, Marquez truly believes he won going away and that Pacquiao has gotten the benefit of the doubt from the judges in every close round they’ve battled through. It’s a feeling that has grown like a persistent weed over thirty-six rounds of combat and fostered resentment toward his more famous foe. Whether he truly dislikes Pacquiao or just can’t abide his iconic status is unclear, but it has altered his mind-set for their fourth fight. “I have to knock him out to win,” the counterpunching master now claims. He understands that to leave his destiny in the hands of the judges yet again, in Las Vegas of all places, could lead to further heartache. He is down by a draw and two losses in the series so far, and another decision going the other way

would define his career whether warranted or not. Those losses in the record book are a constant source of irritation, and they have led him and his trainer, Nacho Beristain, to the decision that he must go for the knockout in order to erase the memory of those disappointments. But if Marquez approaches fight four with that narrow-minded strategic plan, he could play right into Pacquiao’s strengths and find himself hitting the canvas for a fifth time. For at least in the knockdown category, Manny is way ahead. For Pacquiao, the disputed loss to Bradley hasn’t affected his lofty standing in the least. The vast majority of the press and fans were incredulous at the split decision that went against him, but Manny’s shoulder-shrug response to it all only enhanced his good-guy image. He simply went back to the Philippines to resume his political career and plan ahead for his next fight. The main thing, in regard to Pacquiao, that has truly frustrated those in the boxing world is why a superfight between him and Floyd Mayweather Jr. continues to wither on the vine. For that, both fighters have lost respect because if they wanted the fight to be made, the sport’s two biggest stars would tell their promoters to either get it done or they would do it themselves. Couple that with the astronomical paydays they would receive, and fans, many of whom continue to struggle in a fledgling economy, have grown tired of what they perceive as two pampered athletes who just don’t get it anymore. Their struggle to the top is basically over, and financial security is of no concern. Meanwhile, many of those who cheered them on from the very beginning can’t even afford the overpriced pay-per-views being offered in the megafight’s stead. Shame on the both of them. So with a Mayweather fight still out of reach, a rematch with Bradley apparently of no interest to him, and a misguided return bout with former knockout victim Miguel Cotto an unreasonable proposition, Pacquiao turned yet again to Marquez—a fighter his trainer, Freddie Roach, openly its is a puzzle they just can’t seem to solve. But Pacquiao maintains he chose Marquez because of the sentiments of many who believe the Mexican fighter should be up 2-0-1 and because the two make for compelling competition. “I chose to fight Marquez because we have exciting fights,” he said at the initial

press conference announcing bout four. Later, on ESPN SportsCenter, he slipped a verbal dagger into Bradley, saying, “I have nothing to prove against Bradley. I proved it already. It was a one-sided fight, and I won the fight.” As for Marquez, he added, “I need to make this fight short to get rid of the doubt. He’s claiming that he won the fights, and I want to rid the doubt.” So there it is. It is not the fight most boxing fans and the sporting world were hoping for, but the history these two share should provide for both technical brilliance and flashes of explosive action. And with both fighters slowed by age and wear and tear, perhaps we will get a conclusive ending to this heated rivalry. One can only hope. For another controversial decision will only further fan disgruntlement and the notion that boxing can just never get it right.

RECOMMENDATIONS

Listed below, in no particular order, are some required viewing and reading for any boxing fan. All fights are post-1970 and are personal favorites. Full-length fights can be bought or traded by reputable collectors and are easily found on the Internet. Fights in sections and full-length bouts—along with documentaries, video blogs, fan interactions, and press conferences—can be found on YouTube. The majority of books recommended can be found at bookstores or by online order. Out-of-print works, such as Don Dunphy at Ringside, often pop up at memorabilia shows—the best of which is during the June International Boxing Hall of Fame induction ceremony in Canastota, New York.

Fights

Muhammad Ali TKO 14 Joe Frazier Sugar Ray Leonard TKO 14 Thomas Hearns Aaron Pryor TKO 14 Alexis Arguello Marvelous Marvin Hagler TKO 3 Thomas Hearns Erik Morales W SD 12 Marco Antonio Barrera Diego Corrales KO 10 Jose Luis Castillo Micky Ward W MD 10 Arturo Gatti Evander Holyfield TKO 10 Michael Dokes

George Foreman TKO 5 Ron Lyle Erik Morales W 12 Manny Pacquiao Steve Cruz W 15 Barry McGuigan Roberto Duran W SD 12 Iran Barkley Marco Antonio Barrera W MD 12 Erik Morales (Third bout) Jose Luis Ramirez TKO 4 Edwin Rosario Marvelous Marvin Hagler KO 11 John Mugabi Julio Cesar Chavez TKO 12 Meldrick Taylor Felix Trinidad TKO 12 Fernando Vargas Thomas Hearns KO 4 Juan Domingo Roldan Naseem Hamed KO 4 Kevin Kelley Roberto Duran W 15 Sugar Ray Leonard Riddick Bowe W 12 Evander Holyfield Evander Holyfield W 15 Dwight Muhammad Qawi Bobby Chacon W 15 Rafael Limon (Fourth bout) Manny Pacquiao D 12 Juan Manuel Marquez Sugar Shane Mosley W 12 Oscar De La Hoya (First bout) Arturo Gatti KO 6 Wilson Rodriguez Israel Vazquez W SD 12 Rafael Marquez (Third bout) Salvador Sanchez TKO 13 Danny Lopez James Douglas KO 10 Mike Tyson

Nigel Benn KO 10 Gerald McClellan

Books

A Flame of Pure Fire: Jack Dempsey and the Roaring ’20s (Roger Kahn) Four Kings (George Kimball) The Book of Boxing (Edited by W. C. Heinz and Nathan Ward) Fight Town (Tim Dahlberg) Dark Trade (Donald McRae) Punch Lines (Phil Berger) Don Dunphy at Ringside (Don Dunphy) The Boxing : International Boxing Hall of Fame Official Record Book (James Roberts and Alexander Skutt) King of the World (David Remnick) “In This Corner . . . !” (Peter Heller) Shadow Box (George Plimpton) Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times (Thomas Ha) An Illustrated History of Boxing (Nat Fleischer and Sam Andre with Dan Rafael) The Sweet Science (A. J. Liebling) The Greatest Boxing Stories Ever Told (Edited by Jeff Silverman)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to Patrick Murphy, Doug Masters, Ralph Willard, Michael Carroll, Mike Watt, Shawn Harvie, Nathan James, Rich Noyes, Michael Carpenter, Alison Hurley, Jonathan Corbett, Edward Anderson, Jerry Hurley, Frank Hurley and Clive Bernath.

Cover and bio photograph by Eileen Nelson. Eileen can be reached at www.eileennelsonphotography.com